


The Summoning

by Maroucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon - Book, Demon!Sandor, Dubious Consent, F/M, Increasingly contrived excuses for sansan to have dubcon sex, Witch! Sansa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2019-08-27 22:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/pseuds/Maroucia
Summary: In a modern Westeros, Sansa Stark is a teenage girl who comes from a long line of powerful witches. To her great shame and sadness, she was born with barely any Skill. Tired of being disregarded and of feeling worthless, she decides one day to use dangerous foreign black magic in one last desperate attempt to get the strength she longs for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Those of you who follow me on tumblr may have heard that I planned on writing this fic. It’s the crackiest fic I’ve ever wrote, but I just couldn’t help myself. I’m not exactly sure of how long it’s going to be, but around 10 chapters perhaps? Hopefully not more. We’ll see though. This is going to be pretty dubcon, so be warned! 
> 
> I hope those who give it a try will enjoy it! If you do, please let me know and leave me a nice comment! :D
> 
> PS: the vocabulary used to describe magic in this fic is very, like very heavily inspired by Anne Bishop’s Black Jewels series.

Sitting on her four-poster bed with her back leaned against a pile of plush pillows, Sansa was studying for the math test she would have on Monday. While she tried all she could to keep her mind on the task at hand, she was too nervous to focus properly, had been distracted all evening. The thought of what she would soon be attempting was far too disturbing and sent her heart racing at the most random moments. Whenever it came, she would wiggle and bite hard at her lip, but then she would force herself to take a deep breath and resume reading her notes. She had taken her decision and would not turn back, yet that didn’t mean that she should not do her homework and prepare properly for her exam first.

Once Sansa gathered she was as ready for her test as she was ever likely to get in her present state, she stood from her bed and stored her notebook into her school bag by her writing desk. The old wooden floor of her family’s Victorian manor creaked under her feet as she walked to the tall, finely carved wooden free-standing mirror there was in a corner of her room. She stopped just in front of it to gaze at herself and couldn’t help but cringe at the view of her. She seemed terrified and so very childish in the white knee-length frilly nightgown she wore. Arya hated it and often commented that she looked like she had just stepped straight out of a cheesy period novel when she sported it. While Sansa liked it exactly for that reason, it didn’t do much to boost her confidence at the moment. She wondered for an instant if she should not change, yet she shortly surmised worrying about clothes was foolish in her circumstances. As if the forces she planned on calling upon tonight would care about _that_ … It was ridiculous!

It was really dark outside, a moonless night. Sansa had left the curtains open and as she glanced out the window, she could only barely distinguish the shape of the tall oak tree that flanked the house. The sky was as black as tar, exactly as it ought. Really, this was the perfect night to do what she intended.

Kneeling before the antique chest of drawers she had inherited from her great-great-grandmother, Sansa opened the bottom drawer and moved aside all the tee-shirts and hoodies stored inside. Underneath the clothes, she found a large leather-bound book and carefully took it out. It was still dusty even though she had removed the worst of it when she secretly _borrowed_ _it_ a week ago and she blew on it in hope to make it a little better. The book had apparently not been consulted very often during the many centuries it had been in the Stark family’s basement occult library, but it was not really surprising. The type of magic it dealt with was extremely rarely practiced in Westeros and not very well seen either. Every young witch was warned against attempting to learn any of it at one point or another by her parents - even Sansa had been, for all the good it had done.

On the grimoire’s cover was a large pentagram and just underneath it, the word ‘Evocation’ was written in bold gothic letters. With shaking fingers, Sansa opened it and flipped through the age-old vellum pages in search of the chapter that interested her.

 _I can still turn back,_ the thought came unbidden, same as it had so many times over the last few days, yet Sansa shook her head, resolute. _I need to do this,_ she reminded herself. _I have no choice._ It was that or always remain as flat and unresponsive to magic as any regular mortal. The prospect was intolerable!

Images of her whole life, of the frustration that had been hers for so long now, flashed before her eyes then. First, she saw Arya, her younger sister, getting more and more powerful as the years went on, then the other young witches of her congregation learning to master an increasing number of complicated spells even as Sansa watched in envy and finally, her mother’s gentle smile that couldn’t quite hide her disappointment when she ultimately came to terms with the fact that Sansa had no Skill to speak of.

“It’s not your fault,” the woman had said, before hugging her.

Sansa sniffed at the memory, tears welling in her eyes all over again. It was not her fault indeed if she was born with no talent in the dark art, however, the notion only made it worse. If she had been to blame at least, she could have done something about it, but as it was, none of her efforts had ever been worth _a thing_!

For as long as she had not had her period, there still had been hope and Sansa and her mother had held on to it. After all, women did not start gaining true power until they had had their fist blood and every witch family counted at least a member who had been nearly without Skill before puberty but started attainting her strength only after it had kicked in. Sadly, Sansa proved not to be one of those. She had had her first period at twelve, four years ago, and while she had gained a woman’s figure by now and was just as tall as her mother, she still could not cast a spell to save her life. She had enough sensitivity to feel when magic was being used and recognise a witch’s psychic scent, but that was it.

In that, she was exactly like the males of her family _. As powerless as a man_ , she reflected bitterly. That hurt! As a female, she was meant to be a witch, same as all her women ancestors had been before her for as long as there had been Starks and Tullys in this world. But that was apparently not her destiny…

A born perfectionist, Sansa excelled in everything she attempted. She had the best grades among her classmates at school, could dance, play the piano, sing beautifully, sew exquisite dresses, bake excellent cakes, draw and paint to perfection… And yet for all of that, no matter how hard she worked at it, she could not become a witch as was her birthright! In the meantime, Arya who had terrible grades, was rebellious and often disobeyed their parents, who sung horribly, did not play any musical instrument and preferred to run the streets with her shady friends than to get involved in any team sport had shown great potential ever since she was but a child and had only kept getting more talented as the years went on. Though it shamed her to admit it, yes, Sansa was jealous. It was so unfair!

And then, the icing on the cake, on Monday Joffrey had dumped Sansa for Margaery!  For some reason, that made her feel even more like a failure. All week, she had been subjected to the sight of them as they walked around school, hand in hand, and people had whispered behind her back, curious to see her reaction to this new most popular couple. It especially hurt in that Margaery was the only other young witch at school apart from her and Arya. Or perhaps more exactly, _apart from Arya_. Sansa was no a true witch, though it pained her to admit it.

Joffrey and Margaery both came from great witch families, the Baratheons and Tyrells, and were part of the same congregation as the Starks and so they had all known each other ever since they were very young. When she and Joffrey had started dating six months ago, Sansa had been convinced she had found her one true love. They had so much in common, she had believed, and Joffrey was alike her in that he lacked the normal sensitivity to magic people with their blood normally had. Even for a male, he was considered flat and would not have known that a spell was being cast right beside him even if the power of hundred witches had been channelled in its weaving. But Sansa had thought that this meant that he could understand her, that he wouldn’t care about her lack of talent in the Craft. They should have supported each other.

She’d been proved wrong when on Monday, he’d told her that as a Baratheon, he could no longer date someone as powerless as her. Margaery and he had fallen in love over the week-end and she was now his girlfriend instead of Sansa. Joffrey was ecstatic at the prospect of all the ways she could use her talent for him. Having a skilful girlfriend would be very convenient as she could do all sort of things for him, such as, for example, cast spells to make his pencil move on its own and write the correct answer during tests, or help him run faster, jump higher and throw the ball farther when he played football in the school team. Sansa could do none of that and he was all too happy to be rid of her. Also, Sansa was a prude and had still refused to have sex with him even after all those months they’d been together. _Perhaps I should have agreed to sleep with him,_ she regretted, though she knew he would probably have left her anyway. He’d told her that at sixteen, she was getting old to be a virgin. But she had been too scared, which was laughable seeing what she was about to do…

 _I don’t have to do this,_ Sansa reminded herself yet another time as she turned the centuries-old vellum pages. At long last, she found the chapter she had been searching for and set down the book onto the floor by her side. _To Conjure a Demon,_ it said in those nearly unreadable gothic letters. _I don’t have to._

And still no matter how scared she was at the idea of trying her hand at this ancient and foreign dark magic ritual that was Evocation, Sansa had taken her decision and she would not back down. She had had enough of not being good enough and this was the only solution to her lack of talent she could think of. A witch could gain a lot of strength from an alliance with a devil, or so it was said… And tonight was the perfect occasion to do it, one that she wouldn’t get again any time soon. Mum and Dad had left for the weekend to visit relatives outside of town and brought Bran and Rickon along. Arya was sleeping at a friend’s house and would only return home tomorrow afternoon. Both Robb and Jon were away at college at the other side of Westeros and certainly not to be expected. The house was completely empty, something which did not occur very frequently, and on top of that, the night was moonless and dark, exactly as the grimoire recommended. Demons did not like sunlight and as the moon took its luminosity from the sun, even its wan glow was to be avoided when attempting Evocation, Sansa had learned.

Of course, she wasn’t sure if it would work. It was a total shot in the dark, a last, desperate attempt… The thought of failure was almost as frightening as that of a demon materialising in her bedroom. There was no guaranty that Sansa would achieve her goal. Why would she manage this when even the most basic spells had never been in her reach? Still, one way or another, it was worth giving it a go. If she succeeded, her life would change forever and no one would ever think of her as that feeble little false-witch and snigger behind her back.

After having reread a few times the passage about the preparation for Evocation in her grimoire, Sansa stood up and cleared a large space at the centre of her bedroom. Just in case, she locked the door and then, headed to her closet where she had hidden her supply. She had found some very fine white sand at a gardening store not so far from school which she was sure would be suitable for a summoning. After having opened the sand bag, she poured the content on the floor, slowly walking about her room as she did and letting it fall in the shape of a large pentagram. With a broom, she pushed around some of it afterwards until the figure was nearly perfect. Getting her hands on black candles had been quite a challenge, but she had found some at a punk-gothic clothing store downtown. She put one on each point of the pentagram and lit them with a lighter. Incense was burning on her writing desk, a mix of sandalwood and patchouli which had been recommended in the grimoire. Sansa was ready, or at least, as ready as one could ever be as they prepared to open a breach between this world and the Seven Hells…

The pace of her pulse hastening, she turned off the light and picked up the ancient book from the floor. It was dark in her room, but thanks to the candles, she could still read the page the grimoire was opened to well enough. It also didn’t hurt that she knew the words she had to recite by heart.

“High lords of the Seven Hells!” she started, her voice thin and unsure.

Sansa could barely believe what she was doing, yet if she was to attempt Evocation, she had best try to sound a little more confident. She would never convince a devil to come forth from the Seven Hells with a scared little girl’s voice! Clearing her throat, she went on:

“Send me one among you to be my slave and master. Give me the power that derives from your eternal flames! Let him become me and I him.”

This had sounded much better and, with a little more self-assurance, Sansa walked to the centre of the pentagram, still holding the large book in her trembling arms. As she did, sand stayed stuck against the sole of her bare feet and she glanced down with concern, relief flowing over her when she noted she had not messed up her pentagram too much.

“Sever those tethers that keep him in the Seven Hells and free him so that we be forever bound. Show me the face of Hell that I know what death is like before my time,” she continued, her voice louder now. In the silence of the empty house, it seemed to echo and the overall impression was very eerie.

Then, Sansa lowered the book to the ground and fished out the large kitchen knife she had put in her pocket as she prepared herself for her summoning. “I offer myself in exchange for the power I ask of you. May my blood serve as a symbol of my sacrifice.”

With that, she removed the plastic edge protector, threw it to the floor and pressed the well sharpened blade into her palm. Closing her eyes, Sansa let out a whine at the acute pain she was at once assailed with, but she sucked in her breath and kept pushing, for she knew that only a few drops of blood wouldn’t be enough to sway the lords of the Seven Hells to grant her the favour she was asking. Her face was soaked with tears by the time she surmised the cut was deep enough. Opening her eyes in slits, she gasped in shock and dropped the knife from the moment her gaze fell on the bloody mess that was her hand. Sansa had never liked the sight of blood and for an instant, she seriously feared she might faint. The room was spinning around her, still eventually, it grew stable again and she resumed her incantation in a weak voice.

“Evig em rewop revo eht luos fo nam. Ekam em regnorts naht yna rehto chtiw. Taht eno fo uoy eb dnuob ot em,” Sansa recited. The words sounded even stranger now that she spoke them aloud. There was no way she knew for sure if she pronounced them well, nevertheless she followed the grimoire’s instruction and carried on.

“Evig em rewop revo eht luos fo nam. Ekam em regnorts naht yna rehto chtiw. Taht eno fo uoy eb dnuob ot em,” she said once again, her voice breaking a little at the end.

Sansa’s hand was throbbing unbearably and she kept it closed in a fist and pressed against her chest, her other hand covering it. Shutting her eyes, she repeated the litany a few more times, trying to ignore the warm feel of blood spilling through her fingers.

“Evig em rewop revo eht luos fo nam. Ekam em regnorts naht yna rehto chtiw. Taht eno fo uoy eb dnuob ot em.

Evig em rewop revo eht luos fo nam. Ekam em regnorts naht yna rehto chtiw. Taht eno fo uoy eb dnuob ot em.

Evig em rewop revo eht luos fo nam. Ekam em regnorts naht yna rehto chtiw. Taht eno fo uoy eb dnuob ot em.”

Perhaps it was just her imagination, but Sansa would have sworn a soft, warm breeze was blowing through her chamber. Though it was tremendously subtle, she could also discern something that resembled a witch’s psychic scent, or at least she thought she could. It seemed to become a bit more present as she repeated the incantation a sixth and final time.

“Evig em rewop revo eht luos fo nam. Ekam em regnorts naht yna rehto chtiw. Taht eno fo uoy eb dnuob ot em,” she said, louder than previously, before opening her eyes.

To her surprise, the candles had died out, but apart from that, there was nothing. Sansa waited in absolute obscurity, listening to the wail of the violent wind that blew outside and to the clicks the branches of the tall oak tree did as they hit the slate roof. The old house creaked under the gust’s pressure, the sounds coming from its every corner.

Gazing nervously around herself, Sansa searched for a sign – anything! – that would tell her her Evocation had been successful. There was none. Even the psychic scent she had believed she sensed moments ago had all but disappeared. Could it really have only been her imagination?

About a minute passed and still nothing happened. _What was I expecting?_ Sansa mused, anguish and bitterness overcoming her in the blink of an eye. _I have no Skill. Why would that have ever worked? Why?!_ Then, inadvertently, she clenched her wounded hand and let out a cry of pain at the pang that traversed it. _Oh, and how will I ever explain that cut?_ she wondered in despair, glancing down at it. Tears filled her eyes even as small, pitiful whimpers escaped her lips.

“That was all for nothing. How stupid of me… I am worthless. _Worthless_!” she exclaimed aloud.

Sobs shaking her, Sansa was about to start crying well and truly when something like an explosion of energy sent her flying to the ground. She landed on her back with a yelp and, holding her aching, bleeding hand against her chest, she gasped loudly as her room was transformed into a real-life furnace in less than a heartbeat. Fire was everywhere, licking the walls and furniture and rising all the way to the ceiling. Panic-stricken, Sansa propped herself on her elbows to better take in the surreal scene that played out around her. Yet even before she had time to truly process what was going on, the flames diminished in intensity until they had vanished completely. Only the candles’ wicks remained lit, their small flames giving off enough light for the soot marks that had been left all over her chamber to be visible.

The air was thick with the stench of smoke and Sansa coughed and blinked even as fear stronger than she had ever experienced gripped her. The psychic scent she had noticed earlier was back with a vengeance. It wholly filled the room, was omnipresent to the point of being oppressive and to give Sansa the impression that she was being invaded and scrutinised. Her breathing coming in short and ragged, she watched with wide eyes as a large, dark shadow slowly took form at the centre of her sand pentagram.

“Who dares call me forth from the Seven Hells?” a deep, raspy voice echoed through the room.

Sansa shrunk back at once, her heart hammering in her chest and whole body shivering. _It has worked_ , she reflected with incredulity. No matter how much effort she had put in it, deep down, she had never genuinely believed her summoning would lead to anything. Yet looking at the manlike creature that was appearing in front of her, there was no doubting it anymore. There was no joy in this success though, only horror and a clear, chilling feeling that she had just made the biggest mistake of her life…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was fast! O: Don’t know if I’ll ever manage to update so quickly again, but for time being, enjoy!

Slowly but surely, the cloud of smoke that surrounded the demon Sansa had summoned dissipated until only traces of it remained. Propped on an elbow with her wounded, aching hand pressed hard against her chest, Sansa watched him from her place on the floor with eyes wide with disbelief. Never in her life had she beheld such an imposing and terrifying being. Her body was reacting with visceral terror to his mere presence. The view of him, as well as the strong and alien psychic scent he emitted, were nearly making her sick with fright. She felt as if her blood had turned to ice in her veins. Every part of her was trembling uncontrollably and her breathing was coming in short to the point that she feared she might choke. This was no creature any human was meant to face during their lifetime, some age-old instinct told her. If she valued life, she had best flee and never turn back, it screamed to her.

The grimoire Sansa had used for her Evocation pretended all demons had once been human, long ago. If that was true, that one had been an abnormally tall man before he met his death, centuries ago. He had to be nearer to seven feet than six and was built like the most fearsome of warriors. He wore a pair of dark ancient-looking pants tied with a cord instead of a zipper – breeches these were called, Sansa remembered from all the period novels she had read over the years. Apart from that, he only had on a pair of equally ancient-looking dark boots which were held in place by straps and buckles.

His skin was a medium shade of grey, his chest and arms extremely muscular and dusted with coarse, dark hair. A pair of pointy black horns rose above his head and lank black hair fell down to his shoulders. One half of his face was horribly disfigured, covered with red and black twisted burns that went all the way to his collarbone and his left arm was similarly scarred. On his back was a large pair of black wings, alike those of a bat. Though they were retracted at the time being, they were undeniably impressive. Their joints rose as high as the top of his head with thumbs that seemed as sharp as knife blades at the top of them and the lower parts of the wings ended just below his hips. The demon was glaring at her with eyes that blazed, literally, the white in them yellowish and bright in the dimness of the room. Still the intensity of his stare was probably even scarier than all the rest of him and Sansa averted her gaze from the moment she met it.

“Who are you who broke my shackles?” he asked dryly. His voice was so very hoarse, like he had spent centuries breathing smoke instead of air.

Sansa’s throat was tight and getting worse with every passing second. Though she tried, she found herself unable to form a single word. She had done all she could to prepare herself mentally for this first meeting, knowing a demon was sure to be a frightful sight. Her efforts had been vain, of course. It was one thing to look at illustrations of fiends in her grimoire and other books from her parent’s occult library and another completely to have the real deal stand right in front of her. She didn’t have the nerves for this, she realised in dismay. This whole Evocation had been a huge mistake.

“Speak!” the demon snarled, taking a step towards her. The candlelight fluttered with his abrupt movement and some of the sand of the pentagram on the floor flew from under his booted feet.

Her heart jumping in her chest, Sansa grew as stiff as a bow and sat up in a will to back away from him as much as she could without leaving the ground, yet she knew better than to disobey. “My... my name is Sansa Stark, high lord,” she replied, her voice small and childish. Unable to look at his horrific face, she stared at his legs. The woolen breeches he wore did little to hide just how thick and solid his thighs were. They were as big as trees, just as imposing as the rest of him.

“Sansa Stark,” he repeated, her own name unfamiliar to her ears when spoken by this demon. “You’re a witch? You sure don’t look like one.”

Swallowing hard, Sansa lowered her stare to the floor and closed her free arm around her legs, her injured hand pulsing like a second heart against her chest. “I... I have witch blood, high lord. The women in my family are all witches, but I barely have any Skill myself.”

The demon snorted, a dry and grating sound. “Barely any courage too. The room is filled with the smell of your fear... Is it really you who called me forth?” he sneered.

Her eyes filling with tears, Sansa sniffed hard. Why, oh why had she ever done that indeed? “Yes, it’s me... I’m… I’m sorry if I have bothered you, high lord... I just... I just...”

“Just _what_?” he hissed impatiently, sending Sansa in a fit of shaking.

Struggling not to start crying, she leaned her chin on her knees and shut her eyes. This was all so unreal; she felt as if she was in a dream, or more precisely, in a nightmare. “I… I wanted to be... to be a real witch like my mother and sister,” she murmured.

The demon laughed at that and Sansa was sure she had never heard anything more lugubrious. “A real witch,” he mocked. “You have a long way to go.”

Silence fell over the room for a few long seconds. Although Sansa’s gaze was still fixed to the ground, she could feel the demon’s eyes on her, studying her attentively. Then suddenly, he began probing her with some sort of devilish supernatural sense, appraising her with it - mind, body and soul alike. She grinded her teeth all through his assessment, feeling violated and yet totally helpless against it.

When he finally withdrew his strange and unpleasant mental touch from her, Sansa jerked and exhaled violently before growing limp and panting in exhaustion.

“For all of your trembling and weeping, there’s something there, buried deep within you. I have seen it, though it is atrophic at best,” the demon commented, his voice low and husky. “But I shouldn’t have doubted it. You managed to conjure me and break my shackles alright. One cannot be totally powerless and free a bloody devil,” he rasped, touching one of the large metal bands he had around his wrists. 

The swivel eyes after them had been broken, Sansa noticed as she glanced up at him. She remembered having read about that as she did her research on Evocation during the previous week, that demons were chained in the Seven Hells and that when a witch successfully summoned one, he became bound to her instead.

Sansa’s gaze fell on the hand he was touching the band with and the view of it sent a shudder down her spine. It was huge and grey like the rest of him with fingers that gradually became black from the second knuckles and ended with long and pointy, black claws. _Will I let him touch me with these hands_ , she wondered in revulsion. Somehow, she couldn’t envision that she might really go ahead with this.

“Why don’t you stand up and let me have a good look at you, hmm?” the demon demanded.

Sansa didn’t have it in her to refuse him. Her legs unsteady under her, she struggled to her feet, still cradling her bloody hand against her. The demon approached her and she quavered under his inspection, keeping her stare glued to the floor. He was so very tall, like a giant towering over her. In her peripheral vision, she could glimpse the enormous, dark shape of him, the bottom of his wings, the pointy end of his fingers…

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he said as he walked around her, looking her up and down. Then, he leaned over her and took a deep whiff near her neck. “Hmm, and a virgin too,” he remarked.

Sansa flinched, his proximity too much for her, but the demon closed his hand around her upper arm and pulled her to him. Even through the fabric of her nightgown, there was no ignoring the abnormal warmth of his palm. His claws were digging into her arm, just enough for it to sting, and Sansa winced, keeping her gaze lowered to his sturdy torso. His smell was strong and so odd: male sweat, a hint of animal musk and the stench of smoke all coming together in something that was clearly not human. All Sansa wanted was to run as far as she could from him, yet there was no way she even moved. She was too petrified for that and barely could stand on her two feet to begin with.

“I know it’s you who called me of course, knew it from the second I arrived,” the demon admitted. “I can feel it, smell it... You smell of maiden, but you have your own sweet psychic scent as well, you know. It’s like flowers and honey. I could drink it like wine...” He paused to readjust his hold on her upper arm, yanking her even nearer. “You know what demons do to witches, don’t you?” he asked, his voice hushed.

Sansa breathed in deeply, shutting her eyes at the horror of it. She knew what demons did to witches all too well indeed for having read about it in her grimoire. In it, it was called ‘Fornication’ and there was an intricate illustration of naked witches and well-endowed demons having group sex by a huge bonfire at the beginning of the chapter about it. The very memory of it made Sansa’s blood run cold. “Yes, I know, high lord,” she whispered anyway.

For some reason, her reply angered him. “ _High lord_ ,” he repeated, the words sounding like curses. “You’ve called me that a few times already. Don’t know why. Do I look like a bloody lord to you? Just a moment ago, I was burning in the Seven Hells. I was nothing but pain and misery. You think there’s anything lordly about that, _huh_?!”

“Of course not! I’m so sorry if I offended you. I--”

“Where does that even come from?”

“What?”

“That pompous title!”

“I... I read in my grimoire that it’s how a witch is meant to address a demon as she summons him,” Sansa explained in panic.

“Pfff! That’s bullshit. I piss on titles. They call me the Hound whence I come from, you might as well do the same.”

“Of course, whatever you want, my lor... I mean, no, I’m so sorry, I--”

“You can’t stop yourself, can you? So fucking polite,” the demon cut her roughly. “What sort of witch are you, peeping those pretty little words at me with that pretty little voice of yours.” He sniggered then, the sound so very grating. “A little bird of paradise – that’s what you are - conjuring a bloody demon. Imagine that! But your pretty words are wasted on me, girl.” The demon spat on the floor by his side to show her what he thought of that. “Look at me, little bird,” he ordered suddenly.

Even before Sansa had a chance to do as he bade, he pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted her face. His fingers were burning hot, same as if he’d been feverish, or perhaps more exactly, as if he’d been burning from the inside. Sansa met his blazing stare, too frightened to dare disobey and was oddly fascinated by the look of them, yellowish with grey, somewhat animalistic irises.

“Go on! Take it all in,” he insisted and Sansa submitted and did just that.

Gods, but those twisted scars he had were gruesome to look at up close, the flickering light of the candles’ flames and moving shadows only attracting more attention to the craters and deep cracks in them. While unmarred, the other half of his face was just as intimidating with its strong jaw, heavy brow and high cheekbone. His nose was large and hooked, his features gaunt and the grey of his skin very macabre. Over his head, his horns rose and in the background, Sansa could vaguely distinguish the shape of the upper joints of his bat-like wings.

“I’m not as pretty as you are, am I? Not sure what you expected when you summoned me. This is what you’re going to have to deal with to get the power you’re after. Can you bear it?”

“I... I don’t know,” Sansa answered honestly. A tear went rolling down her cheek and her lower lip began quavering as if she was about to cry.

That seemed to take him aback and he released her chin to narrow his eyes at her. His other hand was still closed around her arms, keeping her near. “You don’t know? What do you mean?” he demanded, his mouth twitching.

Sansa looked down, ashamed of herself. “I’m… I’m not sure I can do this. For… fornication…” she whispered. “I don’t think I can.”

The demon, the Hound he had told her he was called, shifted in place, but with her eyes lowered, all Sansa could see was how the muscles of his broad chest stiffened. “It’s a bit late to turn back, I hope you realise that,” he said with unveiled irritation. “Should’ve thought about that before you called me forth. Nothing will make me go back down there, you hear me? I’ve had enough of all the bloody fire,” he spat.

Sansa waited in silence, unsure what she should say to that.

Lifting a large hand, the Hound twisted a lock of her hair around his forefinger. “You freed me...” he started, his tone calmer. “I’m grateful for it of course, but your conjuration is not over. You cannot call a demon through Evocation and then, not complete your part of the deal once he’s there. That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, little bird. Has no one told you of the appetite a demon has after he’s been summoned?”

“I... I’ve read about it,” Sansa breathed uneasily.

It was indeed one of the things she had learned from the Fornication chapter of her grimoire. What truly bound a devil to a witch was the act of copulation, another word the grimoire used for _it_. One couldn’t hope to gain power without offering herself to the fiend she had called forth. As for the demon, he could not be fooled; he instinctively knew which witch had summoned him and would recognise her by her psychic scent between thousands of women. From what Sansa had read, it was as if her scent became imprinted into his very being and he would lust after her with the hunger of a starving beast, especially when he first arrived, for who knew for how long he had gone without having a woman. It could have been centuries.

What the grimoire had failed to inform her of was what happened if a witch changed her mind and decided not to sleep with the demon she had summoned. Would he be sent back to the Seven Hells? Would he be enraged and rape or kill her?

“If you knew, you should’ve been prepared for it. Why go ahead with this Evocation if you don’t have the guts for it?”

Sansa decided to go for the truth. “I… I thought I could do it - I really did! - but I was wrong. You scare me too much. You were right before when you said I lack courage. I shouldn’t have summoned you. It was a big mistake…” she said, her voice breaking and eyes filling with tears.

That seemed to displease him, yet the demon didn’t raise his voice. “A mistake? Why would you say that?” he asked. His voice was low and rough, quiet in spite of its faint undertone of anger. “Didn’t you tell me yourself you wanted to be a witch like your mother and sister? What about that? You didn’t change your mind so soon, have you?” The hand he had around her arm released it and moved over to her shoulder, the other resumed stroking her hair. “It’s just the fear speaking, but you won’t always be scared. You’ll gain the power you lack if go ahead with this. Giving up so near to your goal, now that would be the real mistake.”

Sansa gazed up at him, surprised. Was he pleading with her? Why would he do that…? Unless… unless…

All of a sudden, she began wondering if she had not guessed right and that he’d be sent back to the Seven Hells if she did not have sex with him before daybreak. The Hound could overpower her easily if he wanted to - he was a good foot taller than her and certainly at least twice her weight - yet maybe her consent was necessary for their alliance to be sealed? If that was the case, then… then perhaps if she managed to free herself from his clutches, to escape and then, to hide herself from him until dawn, she could avoid having to lose her virginity to this creature… Except that was utter nonsense and she knew it. No one could flee a devil who’d been lured to this world by the promise of a willing mate, a mate whose psychic scent he could recognise _anywhere_. And even if she somehow achieved it, where would that leave her? Sansa would be exactly in the same unbearable situation she had been in up until today, only with a wounded hand and a partially burned room. This whole endeavour would have been utterly pointless…

“All that fear’s not warranted. It’s like poison, blinding you to the fact that I’m here to serve you…” the Hound added, each word spoken slowly, in a near murmur. “It’s keeping you from realising what you have at hand here. Are you really going to let it stop you from getting what you want?” he rasped. His harsh features set in an unreadable mask, he was gazing upon her with those strange, blazing eyes. “You’ll get used to the sight of me soon enough. That fear can be tamed, same as I can be for you.”

The hand he had used to stroke her hair moved to her cheek and he softly caressed her there with his knuckles, wiping her tears away. One sharp claw brushed her skin as he did, the feel of it making her cringe. Could she really ever get used to this fiend? Sansa doubted it and yet, for all of that, the Hound was certainly right. In the end, he was only reminding her of what had been her own sentiment before her nerves had gotten the better of her: that her aspiration of becoming a real witch was well worth that one sacrifice. She needed to get a grip of herself. She would never achieve anything if she allowed her fear to control her. Sansa had been so resolute before the demon’s apparition. She had been ready to go to any length to get the Skill she lacked. She couldn’t let all of her efforts go to waste. _Perhaps I can be brave,_ she mused, unconvinced. _Perhaps I can do it…_

“If you lay with me, you’ll be more than a witch,” the Hound continued. He leaned over her, bringing his face inches from hers. “You’d be channelling your strength through me directly from the Seven Hells and trust me, that twice accursed place is bursting with wasted energy that just begs to be freed. Once you learn to wield it, they’ll be no stopping you. With time, you could become more powerful than any witch you know. No one would ever see you as that _pretty little false witch_ anymore, the one with the blood but not a drop of Skill to go with it. Don’t tell me that’s not something you long for.”

Once more, his words hit a nerve _. Can he read my mind?_ Sansa wondered. Or were these things he had sensed when he probed her earlier? One way or another, she indeed had had enough of being disregarded by the men and women of her congregation. The frustration of being unskilled was a constant in her life, a bitter aftertaste at the back of her throat that apparently would never leave her. Sansa was tired of being laughed at behind her back by the other young witches of her circle. She wanted to be one of them.

Apparently sensing he was getting somewhere, the demon kept on going. “I’d be your willing slave, would do your bidding, as any faithful demon ought to when asked by his conjuror. How many people do you know that can say as much? That they have a devil at their beck and call?” he insisted.

Sansa glanced up at his horns, at the joints of his closed wings that rose behind him, at the sharp, black thumbs over them. “No one,” she whispered. She bit at her bottom lip, a wave of aversion washing over her as the demon cupped her cheek with his huge hand. It was so warm, nearly burning her, and very calloused.

“There, little bird, you see?” he said, his lips curving in a faint smirk. “All you have to do to change your life forever tonight, is open your pretty white legs for me and let me take you like you promised you would when you recited the words of your summoning. It won’t be as bad as you dread, I think you’ll be surprised. Witches all enjoy being fucked by their demon. I don’t see any reason why you’d be different”

Sansa had read as much in her grimoire, yet she couldn’t imagine she could ever take any sort of pleasure from being shagged by this fiend. Still, there was no way around it: she desperately wanted to be a witch like was her birthright and this was her only hope of ever achieving that dream. Besides, having such a fearsome devil at her service surely couldn’t hurt either. She had opened a breach between this world and the Seven Hells and there was really no turning back after that. _This has to be done,_ she decided, shivering like a leaf.

“Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll give myself to you,” Sansa breathed, barely believing her own words.

The Hound bared his teeth in the most devilish grin she had ever witnessed and his eyes flashed with something like satisfaction. “Good, you won’t regret it, Sansa Stark,” he rasped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how was it? Pleaaaase be kind enough to share your impressions with me in the comment section if you liked it because this is such a crackish fic, lol! I NEED to know if people are on board! Thanks in advance! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is at long last! Chapter 3! Warning for heavy-duty dubcon in this chapter. If you enjoy, please let me know! :)

_Oh, gods, so this is it,_ Sansa thought to herself, her pulse resounding loudly in her ears. Her neck craned, she was gazing up at the demon’s eyes, their odd animalistic quality transfixing her and making it impossible to look away in spite of how much he terrified her. Their irises were a metallic grey, their pupils black and oblong and the yellowish white of them was glowing in the dimness.

A smirk on his lips, the Hound was studying her face leisurely, his stare travelling from her eyes to her hair to her lips even as he kept his huge clawed hand clasped over her shoulder. Then looking down at her body, he frowned as he seemed to notice the injured hand she had cradled against her chest for the very first time. Very gently, he pulled it to him, revealing the large, dark stain of blood that was soaking her nightgown underneath it. _Gods, it’s good for the garbage,_ Sansa mused distantly, her head spinning. The view of so much blood - of her own blood! – was making her queasy and her state only worsened as the Hound opened her palm and she saw the deep, gashing cut and wobbly, pale skin surrounding it. For an instant, she feared that she might faint for as much as it hurt and only managed to stay on her feet thanks to the demon’s support.

“A pity to see such a flawless hand branded, but a demon has to do what he has to do,” he rasped.

Bending over her, he lifted her hand to his face to lick her wound and clean the blood away. His tongue was red, but darker than a mortal’s, almost black, and longer too. Once more, Sansa was overwhelmed with revulsion. Against her better judgment, she flinched, but the Hound held her wrist solidly, forcing her to remain in place. When he finally let go of her hand, she noticed the bleeding had stopped and the cut closed. Only an angry red scar and slight throbbing remained, same as if the slash had been days old.

“Take off that shift,” he told her, grabbing a handful of her nightgown and lifting it to her hips. “It’s dirty anyway…”

Shutting her eyes, Sansa took a deep, shivering breath, but she obeyed in spite of her nerves and pulled her nightgown over her head. _This is really happening_ , she mused in disbelief as the piece of clothe fell to the ground by her side. Underneath it, she only wore a pair of pale blue cotton panties. Never in her life had she felt so exposed and vulnerable. It was the first time she undressed before a man, though whether this creature really could be called a _man_ was debatable.

The Hound grunted appreciatively. “I’m a lucky devil. Could’ve been summoned by a toothless old hag and yet here you are: young, beautiful… ah, and a maid on top of that…” He snorted and lifted a hand to caress her ribs with his knuckles. “Well, _that,_ you won’t stay for very long of course…”

With that, his hand trailed down her side until it had reached her hip. He gripped her panties and, with his long and sharp claws, he pierced the fabric and tore the garment from her body as easily as if it had been made of tissue paper. Sansa let out a small cry and glanced down in shock at what was left of her panties on the floor. Her gaze darted up almost immediately to meet the demon’s stare. He was grinning, a scary, rabid grin, and his strange eyes were gleaming in a mix of amusement and desire.

“You’d think that after having been dead for so long, us demons would’ve learned patience, but no. It actually gets worse,” he muttered. Leaning over her, he slid both his hands behind her butt to cup both of its cheeks and mould them vigorously. “No worries, though, you’ll get used to it with time,” he added in her ear.

His palms were hot to the point that they were nearly burning her skin and the metal bands he had around his wrists were even hotter, yet for all of that, Sansa was shivering just as much as if she’d been cold. She could feel his claws on her skin, hear him breathe raggedly in her ear, and his alien psychic scent as well as his bodily odour, musky and masculine and a bit beastlike too, were overpowering her senses. This was all too much for her and she wished he would leave her in peace, if only for a few seconds at least.

The Hound clearly wanted the opposite though. Straightening his back, he moved his hands up to her waist and pulled her flush against him. His body was as hard as steel, his erection impossible to ignore - a huge and solid bulge against her stomach… Sansa lifted her hands and laid them flat on his torso, same as if she wished to push him away, yet the next thing she knew, his mouth was on hers, his tongue sliding between her lips. Sansa grew stiff and shut her eyes, nevertheless, she didn’t resist and let it enter.

While she should have gagged at the thought of that dark tongue exploring her mouth, some odd and irresistible instinct compelled her to move her tongue with his. Sansa didn’t understand what was getting into her; she was growing heady, dizzy and light headed and was kissing him back like it was something she thirsted for. She moaned in his mouth, confused and yet unable to stop herself.

And then she smelled it - the strange, telltale metallic odour of black magic. _He’s casting a spell on me,_ Sansa realised, stunned. How could he ever be doing something like that? Casting spells on people without their consent was one of the worse crimes possible amongst people of her blood and most witch never learned to do it anyhow.

But the Hound was not one of them of course. He was a demon and he would not know such law, would not care by nature. _It was to be expected_ , Sansa reminded herself. _I really shouldn’t be surprised that he would use his power unscrupulously._ It was true and yet the notion did little to quell the turmoil of contradicting feelings he was rousing in her. She felt used, like she was a mere toy he played with. On the other hand, in the meantime his spell was doing its work on her and compelling her to lean more onto him, to press herself against him and kiss him back ardently. It was disconcerting to have her mind and body at war, one repulsed by the foreign creature that he was even as the other, basic and animalistic, craved for his proximity.

When finally, the Hound let go of her lips, Sansa was momentarily relieved, though she knew worse was to come. The spell he had cast on her was dissipating, she noted, and the coppery scent had lessened. For a few long seconds, they both stared at one another, each panting. While she was undeniably scared, Sansa once more found herself unable to look away from the demon’s blazing eyes. She was like a deer in the headlights, hypnotised by their glow.

“You’ve a mouth made for kissing. ‘Taste like the Sevens Heavens…” he commented in a gravelly voice. Cupping her cheek, he flashed her a large, wicked grin and snorted. In the near darkness, his teeth seemed very white, especially next to the grey of his skin. “As if a demon knew what that was like,” the Hound commented with a snigger. Narrowing his eyes, he tilted his head to the side and glanced down at her naked curves. “And that little body of yours, I wager it’s made for fucking. That’s what we’ll get to see in a moment. You’re going to get it good all night long, little bird. You’ve been warned.”

With that, he clamped his hands to her behind and swung her effortlessly over his shoulder, same as if she weighted nothing at all. Sansa let out a yelp of surprise and shrilled as her face came into contact with his wing. The texture was extremely unpleasant - soft, membranous and sort of sticky. The demon opened it partly to give her space and she gripped her hands after his back before looking down at the moving floor in alarm. Sansa was so high up, perched over him as she was. His hold on her was firm at least, she could tell he would not drop her.

“You mortal prefer to do it in bed, I’ve heard. As for myself, I’d gladly have deflowered you against the wall, but I’ll humour you. Gotta make it good for my little conjuror as well,” he rasped. With that, he bent over to let her fall onto her mattress.

Landing on her back, Sansa propped herself on her elbows almost just as soon. Her comforter felt rough to the touch and peeking down at it, she saw it was partly in ashes. It had been burned as the Hound arrived, same as her curtains and furniture.

Then, even as she gazed up at his towering form, the Hound’s pants turned to smoke, vanishing from his body and exposing his nudity to her. Sansa’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell on his dick. It was _huge_ , much bigger than what she had anticipated. She wondered if in life he had been so well-endowed, or if this was part of a devil’s attributes, same as the wings and the horns. One way or another, there was certainly something beastly about being so well-hung which did suit a demon to perfection, no matter how much she’d have rather it be different.

His penis was very large and long and darker than the rest of his body, charcoal black, and his balls were the same shade and full. There was dark hair growing around the base of his shaft and a thin line of it went from his groin to his navel. His thighs were just as muscular and sinewy as the rest of him and dusted with dark hair. With wide eyes, Sansa watched him as he closed his fist around his width and started moving it up and down in a fluid motion.

“Ever seen a naked man before, little bird?” he asked lowly.

“No… I mean, yes, but not in person,” Sansa replied in a breathless murmur. Suddenly self-conscious, she closed her legs in a vain attempt at modesty. “But you… you’re not a man.”

Throwing his head back, he barked a rough laugh and shook his head, the movement attracting attention to the set of horns he had over it. “You’re right, I’m not. But you’ll want no man in your bed after you’ve known a demon, mark my words.”

With that, he climbed over the mattress, the bed creaking in complaint under his weight, and laid his heavy hands on her knees. Though Sansa resisted by reflex, he easily parted them and took place between her legs.

“A pretty sight,” he muttered, gazing down at her pussy.

Sansa was blushing like crazy. Demon or not, this was her very first time getting involved in any sort of sexual activity. She had never gone further than making out and being groped through her clothes by Joffrey. To be examined so brazenly, same as of she was a piece of meat the Hound intended to devour at any instant, was certainly nerve-racking.

After he had gotten his eyeful, the demon smirked at her and lowered himself over her. Sansa was once more taken aback by the warmth he exuded. He was burning, like he was feverish, and even though their skins were barely touching, she could feel heat radiate around him. With clawed fingers, he caressed her face and neck, staring down at her intently. Sansa sucked in her breath, her lithe muscles tensing under his touch. His burned face was so near hers she could behold it in all of hideous glory, every gruesome detail of it. There was a hint of bone, visible on his jaw, she noted in revulsion, and the dark, red skin of his scars seemed to ooze.

“Fuck, but you make me hard, little bird. Can you feel it?” he asked in a rough murmur. As he spoke, he swung his hips against her, as if that was needed.

Sansa shut her eyes and bit at her lip. “Yes,” she breathed. She could feel him alright. His dick was resting heavily onto her stomach, such a stiff and massive thing between them.

The Hound chuckled, the sound low and grating, and brought his hand to her breasts to mould them vigorously. “Mmm… that’s a perky pair of tits you got there, just big enough, firm and juicy like fresh fruits,” he commented, pinching her nipples with calloused fingers. 

Sansa let out a small squeak and she inhaled deeply as he took one nipple into his mouth. His lips closed around it and he sucked at it greedily, his hand closing around her other breast and claws digging in her skin just enough to sting. A groan escaping her lips, Sansa shook at the acute sensation his cruel mouth was eliciting. The Hound was using his lips, teeth and tongue, restlessly tasting her breast like they were some delicious treat he couldn’t get enough of. With his hands, he was pushing them together, his tongue swirling around her nipples and his mouth sucking them until they had turned into a pair of painfully stiff and pointy buds. There was a tightness in Sansa’s lower belly which grew increasingly hard to ignore. She frowned, the notion that her body could respond positively to this unnatural creature’s ministration perturbing her and sending a shudder down her spine. There was no spell being cast, no excuses…

Then without willing it, Sansa opened her eyes and glanced down at the demon. Horror-struck, she gasped at witnessing the sight he made: a winged monster licking at her breasts with his dark-red, long pointy tongue. His blazing eyes were filled with lust, his horns tilted her way and so near her face, she could see the spirally indentions in them. She whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut, the horror and surrealism of the scene to much for her.

His mouth not leaving her breasts, the Hound trailed a hand down her stomach and brought it to her crotch. He touched her folds, lightly at first, even as he kept suckling at her nipples. When one long finger began sliding into her entrance, Sansa tensed, fearing that his claws would cut her insides, yet it somehow went in smoothly. She squeaked anyway, unaccustomed to the sensation. The demon repeated the motion, coming in and out of her with his digit, and still, there was no real pain, just a faint discomfort that would in all likeness leave no permanent damage. His finger felt big though, and as he dipped it further into her, Sansa wondered how she would ever accommodate his cock when even his index took so much space in her.

His thumb found her clit and, no matter how utterly repelled she still was by the horrific manlike creature above her, Sansa’s eyes rolled back in bliss at the contact. The pressure he exerted was unexpectedly light, the pad of his thumb moving in conceit circles over the exact spot she took her pleasure from same as if he knew her body by heart. It was exquisite from the get go and Sansa was taken aback by it, but once more, she knew this was not natural. She was getting heady again, was feeling odd and while it was faint still, the coppery scent of dark magic was back.

As it grew stronger, Sansa’s loins were increasingly pooled with warmth. She gasped and moaned as agreeable tremors coursed through her body, emptying her mind of any coherent thought. Soon, she was mewing like kitten, like she had no shame at all, though that wasn’t the case of course. Sansa was still aware enough to blush at hearing herself, totally embarrassed and yet unable to control herself.

“Fuck, listen to you, little bird… so bloody eager…” the demon commented in something like amazement, his thumb busy caressing her clit.

 _Is he mocking me?_ Sansa wondered from the fog she was in. He had everything to do with her present state and ought not to act like he was surprised by it.

“Tell me you love it. _Say it_ ,” he demanded against her breasts. His voice was low and husky and his breath tickling her now completely damp nipples.

Without waiting for her to answer, the Hound added another finger in her, the gesture making her sigh audibly. Then, he started moving his two fingers in and out of her even as his thumb kept working on her clit, his touch slow, but firm.

“Go on, girl, speak! Tell me you cannot get enough of this,” the Hound insisted in a hoarse whisper. “Or else I’ll stop.”

Sansa shook her head. “No, please don’t,” she said weakly, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. Had she really just said that?

“Then make this demon happy and tell me what I want to hear,” he rasped, pressing his thumb a little harder over her clit and eliciting a long and languorous lament from her.

While she was undeniably abashed by her own keenness, the words came out of her mouth as if spoken by another much more wanton woman. “Yes… yes… I… _I love it_ …” Sansa finally admitted, barely believing her ears.

“Good girl,” the Hound muttered, his voice hushed and filled with want. He thrust his rock-hard dick against her thigh and cursed low in his throat, clearly extremely aroused as well.

As he kept fingering her and playing with her clit, Sansa’s moans gradually grew louder and more frequent. While she did masturbate every now and then like any other girl, these feeling this demon was waking in her with his simple ministrations were like nothing she had ever known. It was uncanny and no wonder: the scent of metal was getting heavier still. He was manipulating her, using her.

In a way, and though it surprised her, Sansa realised a very logical part of her welcomed his spell. Thanks to it, his claiming of her would run more smoothly, for she would not act as scared as she felt deep down. While she had taken the conscious decision of going through with this, having sex with this creature was certainly not something she’d have ever wished for. With the Hound’s spell, at least she would take pleasure from it. It would feel less like she was being forced, like it was a chore, a sacrifice. She could tell it would be good… it was already. She could hardly contain herself and kept mewing and squirming under him.

“Now, tell me you want me to _fuck you_. I want to hear you say it,” the demon hissed in between two pants.

Sansa bit at her lips. She wasn’t so far gone yet as to genuinely want _that,_ still at the point she was at, she might as well give him what he wanted and speak the damned words. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t agreed to having sex with him anyway and she could tell the Hound would not back down until she had given in to his demand.

“Yes,” she murmured, out of breath and vaguely ashamed. “Yes... please do it…”

“Such a polite and well-mannered girl,” the demon commented, pleased.

Approaching his face to hers, he looked her in the eyes with the most piercing gaze Sansa had ever seen and dug his fingers deep in her. He curved them just enough to find that sweet spot all the women magazines raved about and rubbed it gently, watching with a satisfied smile as she moaned and squirmed.

“It’s coming soon, I promise it, little witch. I’ll give it to you good and long, but first, I want a taste of that sweet-smelling cunt of yours. I think you’ll enjoy it also,” the Hound said, before pressing his lips to hers. Sansa knitted her brow in aversion, but that didn’t prevent her from letting his tongue enter her mouth and moving her lips with his.

After he had broken the kiss, the demon removed his hand from her folds and moved to the edge of the bed. He spread her thighs wide and plunged his long, odd-looking tongue in her. Sansa shielded her eyes with her arm, unable to bear the sight of what he was doing, yet moaned as he penetrated her with his tongue, her eyes rolling back.

With both his hands, he held the thighs that flanked his face, his claws scratching her skin and one of his horns brushing her inner thigh. His tongue was more agile than any tongue had a right to be and was twisting in her like a snake. The image of it was revolting and Sansa wished her loins did not pulse with bliss with each of its movement in her. She ought not to relish this so much…

“You taste like honey, girl, even better than I thought you would,” the Hound muttered against her folds after he had withdrawn his tongue from her cleft.

With that, he began lapping at her clit with all the hunger of a starving stray dog.  Once more, his tongue on her was exquisite and Sansa couldn’t stop herself from groaning and writhing. Her centre was as hot as lava, liquid and boiling with want. She gripped her burned comforter with her hands, her hips bucking against his face as if of their own volition. The scent of metal was intensifying, enveloping her like a thick blanket until she could hardly breathe. Her cries were getting desperate, louder and throatier.

But then as Sansa was just on the verge of peaking, the demon removed his mouth from her and installed himself on his knees between her legs. Letting out a small cry of complaint, she gazed up at him with rounded eyes. The Hound’s back was upward, the position displaying his imposing muscular torso to her view and the flickering light of the candles only attracting more attention to just how sinewy it was. His wings were slightly open, making him appear even larger and taller, as if he needed it…

“You’ll come as I fuck you,” he stated, placing his massive, dark member at her entrance. “I want to feel your cunt squeeze me hard as you do.” With that he lowered himself over her and propped his forearm onto the mattress over her head.

Sansa had but a second to be nervous before he pushed himself into her in one sole thrust. She was incredibly wet and his dick went in smoothly, yet even so, a pang of pain traversed her pelvis. Tautening under him, she let out a long whimper and bit hard at her lip. He was so large and she had been a virgin just a second ago - that it hurt was unescapable. For all of that, the feel of being so filled, of being stretched around him was unexpectedly ecstatic. For an instant, it was as if nothing existed but that fullness in her – that and the agony and pleasure the invasion brought.

“Mmm, that’s one tight little cunt you got there,” the demon rasped, moving ever so slightly in her. “I barely fit in - thank fucking goodness you’re soaked.”

Then he growled contentedly and bit at her neck, hard, and Sansa shrieked.

“Did I hurt you? Sorry, little bird,” he murmured, not sounding apologetic in the least. “You’re just good enough to eat. Here now, that’ll make it better,” he added lowly, licking her neck like a dog where he had bitten her.

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut in disgust, yet she didn’t have time to linger on it, for the Hound began pumping himself in her well and truly, one large hand clenched over her hip to guide his comings and goings. With each of his shoves, he buried himself to the hilt and then pulled his dick almost completely out of her before repeating the motion, again and again.

In just a few seconds of that, Sansa’s soreness grew insufferable and she grunted in complaint. “Careful,” she begged, pressing her palms against his chest.

“Don’t try to push me away, little bird,” the Hound scolded her. “Just relax and let yourself go.”

In their position with their bodies so impossibly near, the strange masculine, slightly animalistic smell of him was more than strong and that, added to his continuous invasion of her, to the feel of his claws digging in her skin and to his ever-present intense psychic scent, was getting too much for her. Suddenly, Sansa was taken over by a bout of panic. All she wanted was to push this fiend off of her, to have her own space again, for him to disappear… However, even before she could attempt anything at all, the odour of metal became as thick as steam and a rush of arousal washed over her.

 _Oh gods,_ Sansa thought, her eyelids growing heavy _. No, this is too much._ But there wasn’t anything she could do to stop the demon’s spell. Her only option was to submit and let herself get carried away by the uncontrollable yearning he was rousing in her. Swaying her hips with his with renewed eagerness, Sansa let her hands slide to each sides of his torso and closed her arms around his broad chest.

“Yes, that’s better. Much, much better,” he muttered, his voice so very raw. “Hold me tight and let me take you hard.” His eyes on her were narrowed and filled with lust, bright in the dimness of the room. Behind him, his horrific bat-like wings were wide open, Sansa noticed distractedly, stretched to their full size.

Never in her life had she been so confused. She couldn’t understand her own emotions, they were so contradictory and extreme. How could anyone be in such state of elation as she presently was and yet be under the impression that they were in the middle of the most horrible of nightmares? Sansa was being mounted by a hideous and enormous half-man, half-beast creature, one that had come directly from the Seven Hells just to shag her. She was being restlessly impaled by his huge, veiny charcoal dick even as a clawed hand kept her in place, as his brutishly muscled, hairy torso rubbed against her breasts… She ought to wail and sob, not to rock her hips with his and moan same as if she was a bitch in heat. But there wasn’t much she could do to stop herself. Her body was filled with such need…. She was desperate for that peak she could feel coming, was aching for it.

“See, little bird, this is what demons do to witches… I intend to do it to you often. Every bloody night, many times over. You’ll soon learn us demons are hard to exhaust, but I don’t think you’ll ever complain of that much…”

Sansa didn’t say a word. It was getting hard for her to even think. Instead, she groaned and parted her legs all the more to give the demon even better access. Arching her back into him, she met each of his thrusts in her and mewed and shivered at the amazing friction of his dick in her. Still, it was not enough. She wanted _more_...

The Hound kept on going with the same vigour and began licking her neck and ear. This time, Sansa was too much in a haze to be disgusted. To the contrary, even that little bit of stimulation was bringing her over the edge. By the Seven, but she had never wanted to come so much as she did now. Her climax was within reach, a gigantic thing that scared her just as much as it allured her. Her whole body was throbbing with need, each part of her infinitely sensitive and as she pushed her pelvis against the Hound and pressed her swollen clit against him as she met his shoves, the shockwaves that went through her were simply out of this world.

“Seven buggering Hells, but you’re one wild little thing, are you? You love it, don’t you? Being taken by your demon... Why don’t you say it aloud, hmm? Tell me you want more of this,” the fiend asked, his hand closing around one of her breasts and rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Sansa wanted to weep in shame and she was sure she would later on, but for now, there was no denying the truth. “Yes... yes... please don’t stop…” she let out, digging her fingernails into the thick skin of his back.

As she did, her fingers bumped into the bases of his wings and she winced, momentarily disturbed. She didn’t let it slow her down though and she kept rolling her hips, dying to finally be relieved of that extraordinary pressure that was building in her.

And then she gasped and her eyes grew wide as she was abruptly submerged by a torrent of bliss so violent it briefly both blinded and deafened her. At first, she didn’t even understand what was happening, she was nothing but sensations, a pulsing heart at the centre of the universe, an explosion of lightning in the never-ending darkness of cosmos. She cried out, a loud and sensual sound, and twisted under the Hound for what seemed like an eternity. Never in all of Westeros could Sansa have ever imagined anyone could possibly experience something so intent and otherworldly. For many long moments, she was completely lost to this world. This was no regular orgasm. There was something supernatural about it, or perhaps more likely, something _demonic_. It was a hundred times stronger than even the best peak Sansa had ever given herself, so long and powerful that she was straight out frightened even as she experienced it. Waves after waves of rapture repeatedly washed over her, keeping her completely prostrate, a wreck on her bed, so much so that she began wondering if the devil did not wish to keep her forever at his mercy with this. What if it never ended? What if she never came back? _Would it really be that bad?_ a part of her asked. The moans that escaped her lips didn’t sound all that troubled. It wouldn’t be such a terrible fate…

As she rode her seemingly never-ending climax, the Hound pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her languorously. Sansa kissed him back with a passion she could not hold back. Their tongues were entangled and rubbing together in the most intoxicating manner, their lips moving in sync. She couldn’t get enough of both his lips on hers and that crazy climax she was being subjected to and she pressed her whole body to his, same as if she wished they could merge into one sole being.

When after what seemed like an eternity of unbelievable pleasure, Sansa’s peak receded at long last, the demon withdrew his lips from hers. Struggling to catch her breath, Sansa leaned into his large clawed fingers as he stroked her cheek and watched him through heavy lidded eyes.

“That’s a good girl. You did so well,” he said with unhidden satisfaction. His strange eyes were black with lust, the oblong pupils dilated and fixed on her. “My turn now, before I lose my fucking mind…”

Flipping her onto her stomach, the Hound shoved his rock-hard shaft in her cleft. Sansa yelped, yet she was so moist that he entered her with not an ounce of resistance. Not losing a second, he resumed taking her vigorously, his weight pressing her hard into the mattress. His comings and goings were causing her a bit of pain, yet most of all, reviving her latent pleasure. Pushing her butt up, Sansa rolled her hips with his and rubbed herself against the bed by the same action, her entire body pulsing with renewed arousal. She was ready to burst again and was crying out along with the demon’s growls so loudly her throat was getting raw. And then it hit her for the second time, an orgasm just as abnormally potent as the previous. She was almost sobbing with pleasure, her face bathed in tears and pressed to the pillows, when the Hound finally peaked as well. Grunting like an animal and holding her hips flush against him with his large hands, he dug his claws into her skin and licked and bit at her neck. Sansa squirmed under him, feeling his large member twitch in her like a living thing and the warmth of his seed spill in her womb.

Then after both of their climaxes had receded, the demon pulled his dick out of her and collapsed by her side.

“Come over here, little mistress,” he said, his voice so very hoarse. He pulled her to him, meeting no resistance from her.

They just lay there in silence, panting for a minute or two before the Hound spoke again.

“It’s done now. Wasn’t so bad, was it? I told you witches enjoyed being fucked by their demon and I did not lie, have I?” the Hound rasped, caressing her shoulder with a clawed hand.

Sansa shivered against him and buried her face into his chest. The spell the demon had cast on her was fading away quickly. With it, her revulsion for the bizarre creature that he was was once more getting impossible to ignore. His bodily smell was too strong, his psychic scent invasive… The sensations he had awoken in her with his touch and claiming of her had been totally mind-blowing, there was no denying it, but now that her head wasn’t blurred so much, the memory of it all was rendering exceedingly ill at ease to the point that she was even slightly nauseous. She was left feeling dirty and ashamed of herself for the way she had moaned and responded to him with such readiness and the impression only worsened as his dark spell kept fading away.

On top of that, there wasn’t a part of Sansa that wasn’t aching. In his eagerness, the Hound had left bruises everywhere on her skin and she was also very sore between her legs for having been pounded so restlessly. He had bitten her, hadn’t he? Her neck was burning and her hips were stinging where he had held her with his clawed hands.

For all of that, the last thing Sansa wanted was to offend him. The Hound and she would be linked from now on and it’d be best if they got along as much as a human and devil possibly could. Sansa had to get used to him and she surely would with time. Or at least, she hoped so…

“Yes, my lo… I mean… _Hound_?” she whispered, unsure how she should refer to him. Calling him ‘the Hound’ seemed a little awkward.

He snorted. “Call me Sandor. It’s my true name and not one I hear very often. If there’s one person who ought to use it, it’s _you_. We’re intimate now, aren’t we? I am yours and you, mine. We’ve been bound by the act of Fornication as only a witch and her demon can be,” he told her, gently caressing her hair.

At hearing the demon’s words, all Sansa wanted was to weep in horror, yet instead she inhaled deeply and nodded against his chest, laying a hand on his overly muscular and hot torso.

“I’m not done consuming that bound we’ve just created though. I want you to come again, many, _many times_. I want to hear you cry out my name as you do and beg me for more. Because I know you will. It’s only a question of time before you stop being so easily embarrassed and let go well and truly. Daybreak is still a few hours away; we’ll get to know each other better until then, you’ll see...”

Sansa wasn’t sure whether to be appalled or to look forward to the prospect of what he was promising her. It was humiliating to be used the way he did, to see herself be transformed in the most lascivious woman possible in the blink of an eye by a spell she had absolutely no way of stopping. And the Hound, gods, but he gave her the creeps and no wonder: he was not even human and everything about him kept reminding it to her.

On the other hand though… Well, there was no way around it… It… it had been so, so, _so_ _good_ and there was that other part of Sansa that was dying to know another orgasm like the ones she had just experienced. It troubled her that even without the haze of the demon’s spell doing its work on her, she still craved for this in spite of how much he repelled her…

 _Oh gods, if only he could just disappear,_ Sansa mused, squeezing her eyes shut. _If only I could be left alone._ More than anything, she needed space and time to think in peace. But of course, whatever she wished, the Hound would not leave her for as long as there was darkness and she didn’t try to push him away as he began foundling her again. She would have time enough to ponder on all that had happened to her tomorrow, when he was gone...

*****

The Hound took her again, over and over, and brought her to that same insane completion she had experienced earlier three additional times. Sansa had not even known it was possible for someone to come so many times in only one night. The Hound was like a ravenous beast, one who had been starved for too long and who could never know satiation. Though she was increasingly tired and tender – so much so that she wanted to weep by moments – the devil kept her in an intent state of arousal with his continuous spells and she thus went on with an urge similar to his.

She straddled him like her life depended on it, sucked his huge, dark penis with a hunger that made her blush even as she did it and let him screw her on all four same as if she was his bitch, crying out his name exactly as he had predicted she would. It was all so frantic and Sansa barely had a moment to come round after each bout before the other started. She felt lost; it was all too much for her and she wanted it to stop even as her body begged for more. Nevertheless eventually, the faintest ray of light came through the window and the demon faded away like mist.

“See you tomorrow night, Sansa Stark,” he told her before he disappeared for good.

For a long moment, Sansa stared at the emptiness where he had been, shivering like a leaf, but then she let herself fall onto her bed and burst into tears. She sobbed violently for a whole minute, until the last of her strength had been exhausted, and fell into a deep dreamless sleep a mere instant later.

*****

It was a beam of bright sunlight falling directly on her face that roused Sansa from her deep slumber. Frowning, she twisted away from it, the blankets under her feeling strangely rough against her skin, like they had been damaged somehow. Rolling onto her stomach, she groaned as her body seemed to ache everywhere. Her hand, her neck, her thighs, her hips, her shoulders, everything hurt… even her pussy was throbbing and sore like never before. It took her a few seconds to remember everything that had transpired in the dark of night.

There had been a demon in her room… she had lost her virginity to him… let him take her, over and over again…

“Oh by the Seven,” Sansa breathed, her eyes popping open at once.

As every detail of the night gradually came back to her, she began shaking uncontrollably and coughing same as if she would retch. The reek of smoke was nauseating and tears were welling in her eyes. Sansa had fallen asleep over her partly burned comforter and just pulled it around herself, she realised, wrinkling her nose. She might as well have been lying on a bed of ashes. _Oh by the Seven, but I’m gonna stink too_ , Sansa mused, forcing herself to sit up. She pushed herself up with her hand and winced at the pain it brought her. Opening her palm, she gazed down at the cut she had given herself to summon the demon. You could tell it had been deep. While it had closed completely thanks to the devil’s dark magic, it was still red and gruesome and would without a doubt leave an ugly scar.

Then, Sansa rose her gaze from her hand and gasped in shock as she looked around herself. Her room was an utter mess with sand and melted candles on the floor and random objects lying around. Some of her furniture was slightly burned and her curtains and blanket were black and scorched. In the light of day, everything seemed a thousand times worse… _This is a catastrophe, a true nightmare!_ Sansa though, her heart hammering in her chest. What were her parents going to say when they saw all of that?

With shaking legs, she stood from her bed as naked as on her name day and headed to her high free-stranding mirror. On her way, she saw it was a little past 10am on her alarm radio. She had slept for only about five hours, she surmised, and was still very tired. The juncture of her thighs was wet and sticky with the demon’s sperm and as she walked, drops of it were slowly running down her inner thighs in the most unpleasant manner.

“Oh, gods!” Sansa let out as she saw her reflection in the mirror and took in the several bite marks and many scratches that covered her skin. “This is horrible…”

 _By the Maiden, but why? Why have I ever done any of this?_ she wondered, lifting both her hands to her face. Her throat was getting tight, same as it always did when she was just about to cry and her bottom lip was quavering against her palm.

However, just as she was about to allow herself to fall into despair, a sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced coming from deep within her stopped her short. It was so odd, like a ball of energy bubbling in her core. _Could it be…? Could it be what I’ve always lacked?_ Sansa wondered, barely daring to hope. She had heard it described hundreds of times by other witches, the sensation of power gathering in you, of having your well filled to the brim.

Sansa closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Tears were prickling her eyes, but she managed to get a grip of herself and concentrate on that new feeling in her. She did it for a long time, utterly mesmerised by it, until she could almost see it in truth. Then, she pictured the bite marks and scratches and visualised them disappear - slowly, slowly but surely... Was it her imagination, or… or did it not sting so much anymore? Sansa didn’t dare open her eyes, no matter how much she really longed to, not until she was done.

When some time later, she gathered she had to be, Sansa opened her eyes in slits and tentatively gazed at herself in the mirror. From the instant she did, she was stunned to see the scratches and bite marks had all faded away so much that they were barely visible anymore.

“This is incredible,” she whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief and lips agape.

A mix of excitement and wonder, tainted with a hint of fear, was quickly threatening to get the better of her, but Sansa forced herself to remain calm. There was still work to be done and she had best not lose her focus. Shutting her eyes again, she imagined the furniture as it had been no later then yesterday evening and waited for a few long minutes in deep concentration, her teeth clenched with the effort. Waves of energy soon flew around her, like a warm breeze coursing through her room, telling her something was happening indeed.

Sansa kept going until she couldn’t continue anymore and was so drained, she feared she might faint. Opening her eyes, she was utterly astonished when she saw everything was as it should be. The relief which flooded over her was incredible. She was so very grateful that she might have gotten down to her knees and started praying the Seven in thanks if not for the origins of her new strength. In spite of her joy, she was left totally shattered and could barely stand on her feet anymore. Struggling to catch her breath, Sansa threw herself over her back onto her now free of scorches bed and gazed at the ceiling, her chest heaving. Never in her life had she felt so weak, but was it really surprising? Until just a few minutes ago, she had never so much as cast the simplest of spells and here she had just managed to turn back time on herself and many objects. This was certainly never heard of, to become so powerful so fast.

In her inexperience, Sansa had completely emptied her well and wasted some of her vital energy in the same breath. That was clumsy. She knew enough about Skill and Craft to be aware of how dangerous doing so was, yet seeing how flat she had been until now, she had never been taught to use power properly. _I’ll learn with time. I won’t do it again,_ Sansa promised herself. For now, she would need to nap a little to regain her strength and everything would be much better afterwards.

Then, all of a sudden, it dawned on her well and truly - _the implications of it all_ – and a torrent of tears filled her eyes in just a fraction of a second. “I am a witch,” Sansa said aloud, a tremulous smile curving her lips. With that, she began crying and laughing at the same time. “I am a witch,” she repeated even louder through her laughter and sobs.

And just like that, all of yesterday’s events took a whole new meaning - they all made sense. Sansa did not regret any of it, she realised. Nothing at all. And she would do it all over again if she had to, for it had been worth it. Oh, how it had been worth it…

_She was a witch!_

****

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s another chapter! I hope you keep enjoying this little fic! If you do, please let me know. ;)

The haze of sleep was thick and heavy around Sansa and she would gladly have stayed within its comfy arms if not the troubling images that flashed in her mind. Gradually, consciousness came back to her as well as the memory of all that had taken place in the dark of night in the very bed she laid in. Groaning, she shifted between her sheets and stretched her arms and neck.

 _Right, I’ve fallen asleep,_ Sansa remembered. She had been totally exhausted after having cast her spells and had had no choice but to return to bed to rest a little. Opening her eyes in slits, she squinted and looked around herself. While her rooms was bright with sunlight, half of it was cloaked in shadows, as it always was in the afternoon _._

 _In the afternoon? What time is it?_ Sansa wondered, her eyes growing wide. Jerking her head to the side, she peered at the clock radio to see in consternation that it was almost 3pm.

“Oh, by the holy Seven!” she said aloud, sitting up at once.

Arya would be coming back home at any moment now! Sansa needed to tidy up her room before her sister had a chance to arrive, to take a shower and get dressed! While she had managed to heal herself well enough and to remove all traces of fire, her chamber was still an utter mess and the smell of smoke definitely lingered. She had to do something about it!

In a hurry, Sansa rose to her feet, but she staggered a little as she took her first steps. She was still weak, she realised. Though it was tempting, it would be best if she didn’t attempt to use her newfound power to clean up her room. Doing so would be too risky with the way she had emptied her well earlier today. Letting out a long, weary sigh, she strode to the bathroom she shared with Arya and got in the shower.

For many long minutes, Sansa scrubbed herself clean with much more vigour than she normally used, yet no matter how hard she tried, she could not rid herself of the impression she had of being soiled. She felt filthy, as if her every pore was filled with the reek of smoke as well as with the demon’s powerful scent. On top of that, her crotch was sticky with his semen. She didn’t remember how many times he’d come, but it had to be around five, which was a lot from as far as she knew. Sansa grimaced in disgust at the thought of it, scrubbing even harder

As she lathered shampoo into her long hair, the sting in her palm reminded her of the cut she had given herself to call forth the demon. The Hound had only partly mended it when he licked her and she had forgotten to include it in her healing spell earlier on. _I’ll take care of that later,_ Sansa decided, as she stepped out of the shower.

After having dried herself with a towel, Sansa hurriedly put on a t-shirt and hoodie with yoga pants and tied her wet hair in a messy pony tail. Without losing an instant, she opened all of the second floor’s windows to freshen up the air and started picking up and putting back in place all of the different objects which had fallen to the ground with the demon’s apparition. Among them, she found her bloody nightgown and torn panties and cringed at seeing the poor state they had been left in. There was no saving either and thus with a sigh, she tossed them in the garbage bag she had brought up from the kitchen. The black candles she had used for her Evocation had been burnt to the wick, their wax glued to the old wooden floor. Sansa tore them off as best she could and threw everything in the garbage bag.

The floor was covered with the white sand she had used for her pentagram, though the shape of it had been entirely lost by now. Working as fast as she could, Sansa swept the grains in a pile with a broom and then used a dustpan to shovel the lion’s share of it into the garbage bag. Afterwards, she brought up the vacuum from downstairs and removed what remained until not even a grain was left. Just as she was returning to her room after having stored back in place the vacuum, broom and dustpan, she heard the sound of someone entering the house.

 _Oh, no! Already?_ Sansa thought, her heart jumping against her ribcage. Panic rising in her, she rushed to her closet and tossed her garbage bag inside, yet no sooner had she closed the door that she heard her sister shout from the hallway.

“Seven Hells! What the fuck has happened in here?!” her frenzied voice echoed through the house.

 _Oh gods, is it really that noticeable?_ Sansa wondered, her whole body growing stiff at once. The shear terror she had heard in her sister’s voice froze her blood.

In no time, Arya’s footsteps could be heard resounding as she climbed up the grand wooden staircase as fast as she could. “Fuck!” she cursed again. “Sansa! Sansa, where are _you_?!”

Too petrified to so much as move a finger, Sansa waited in place for her sister to arrive, standing at the centre of her chamber as immobile as a statue.

A second later, Arya was slamming the door open and storming inside her room. Her eyes were wide with dread and her face as white as paper, which contrasted quite a lot with the messy black makeup, probably from yesterday, she had around her eyes. She was all dressed in black: black jeans, black combat boots, a black woollen sweater with a black leather jacket over it. mum hated her style and often complained about it.

“Sansa! You’re alright! Oh my gods!” Arya exclaimed in disbelief. For a brief instant, she glanced upward, as if to thank some benevolent god, but then her features twisted in an expression of incomprehension and alarm and she gazed down at Sansa. “What the fuck ever happened in here, Sansa? Have… have you done something?” she asked somewhat hesitantly. Her incredulity was to be expected: Sansa was indeed not one to ever cause problems and even less if said problems involved magic. This couldn’t possibly have been caused by _her_.

“What… what do you mean?” Sansa asked innocently, unwittingly cradling her scarred hand against her chest.

“ _What I mean_?” Arya repeated, her eyes growing as wide as saucers. Taking a step forward, she craned her neck to glare up at her. Though she was only two years younger, she was a good six inches shorter than Sansa. “You’re joking, are you?” she continued heatedly. “It stinks of smoke in here! And by the Stranger, can’t you sense it? Some wicked spell has been cast between those four walls, you won’t make me believe anything less!” Wincing, Arya looked around herself and shuddered visibly. “And there’s like… this… this strange psychic scent - unlike anything I’ve ever sensed!  - and something like untamed energy trapped in your room... It’s so, so weird, and not in a good way!”

As she heard her sister speak, Sansa felt the colour drain from her face. Arya was not one to be easily frightened, thus to see her freak out so much was not very reassuring. _It’s just the unknown. I’ve seen the Hound in person and he’s not… not so bad,_ she tried to convince herself, though in truth she failed.

“What has happened, Sansa?” Arya insisted when she didn’t answer. With both her hands, she grabbed her by the front of her hoodie and gazed up at her, her eyes-half pleading, half-crazed. “You look like a _mess_ , Sansa - it’s not like you at all! Have you looked yourself in the mirror? Something very strange has taken place in here and you know it, there’s no doubt in my mind about it! What was it? Tell me!” she practically begged, shaking her.

Gulping, Sansa knit her brow as if in pain and shut her eyes to better reflect upon her situation. If Arya could have sensed so much from the instant she stepped into the house, there was no way in all of Westeros she could ever keep what she had done from her parents when they arrived back home tomorrow afternoon. Arya had Skill and was much more knowledgeable in Craft than her. While Sansa had been given theorical lessons on the matter as anyone with witch blood, her sister had had practical lessons on top of that and been taught how to use her power ever since it first started appearing a few years ago. There was no way around it: though Sansa would have preferred not to open up to Arya, she needed help and badly at that! And who else was there to ask apart from her sister?

“Arya… I’ll… I’ll tell you everything,” Sansa started in a quavering voice.” Just promise me that you won’t tell the parents.”

Staring at her with an expression of horror, Arya removed her hands from the front of her hoodie. “So you… you _really_ did something…” she murmured in disbelief. For a short instant, she just stared at her in silence, yet soon, her curiosity got the better of her and she narrowed her eyed at Sansa. “But I… I don’t understand. What in the Seven Hells could you ever have done to cause all of this?” she asked, growing agitated all over again.

“Promise me you won’t tell first!” Sansa insisted, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Clearly ill-at-ease and a bit irritated as well, Arya agreed nonetheless. “Alright, I won’t, but I may not have to! The psychic scent in here is _strong_!” she warned, pointing a finger at her.

Sansa bit at her lip, her worry suddenly too much to bear. “Oh gods, Arya! Is it really _that_ bad? You’ll help me with this, won’t you?”

“With what? What is it that you did?” Arya cried out, losing her patience, which wasn’t plentiful to begin with. Her face was all red and her brow furrowed.

Sansa breathed in deeply and looked down at her feet, oddly ashamed as the words finally came. “I… I summoned a demon.”

“You _what_?!” Arya yelled at once. For a brief instant, she remained silent - clearly too stunned to speak - until the meaning of Sansa’s admission truly dawned on her. “Oh, gods, Sansa…” she whispered, her face dropping. She looked like she was about to be sick, but Arya was too curious by nature not to ask questions. “And it… it worked?”

“What do you think?” Sansa replied, knitting her brow and waving around herself.

“Yeah, sorry, stupid question. Of course, it worked!” she said, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “That’s the whole problem in fact… Oh, Sansa! Why… why would you ever do something like _that_? Don’t you know how dangerous that sort of magic is?”

“Dangerous? Well, no… I mean, yes, I know it, of course! But I’m… I’m _totally fine_ , don’t you worry! Nothing bad has happened,” she assured her, trying to sound as convincing as she could.

Wincing, Arya shook her head, clearly not buying any of it. As she did, her gaze was caught by Sansa’s hand, still cradled against her chest, and she seized it and pulled at it.

“Shit!” she let out as she opened her fist and saw the ugly scar that crossed her palm. “Sansa… you _really_ did this… That’s insane… you’re crazy…”

Sansa’s heart was hammering so fast, she was starting to get dizzy. “How… how do you even know about that? That a witch has to cut her palm to achieve Evocation? I sure didn’t know much at all about summoning devils before I’ve found that grimoire I used.”

“It’s just a subject I’m curious about,” Arya explained, her stare fixed on Sansa’s scar, examining it. “I’ve read about ancient and foreign magic a lot, went through so many of the old dusty books of the family’s occult library. It interests me, but I would never, _ever_ attempt something like what you did! That’s just plain insane!”

Sansa wasn’t sure what she should say to that. Suddenly, she wondered if Arya was right and that she was not crazy indeed. Her eyes filling with tears, she wrenched her hand free and hid it against herself.

Grimacing, Arya raised both of her palms to her face and rubbed it hard. “Seven Hells! So yeah, everything makes all too sense now: that strange psychic scent, the smell of smoke… it explains a lot.” Her hands went down and she seemed nervous now. “You… you slept with the demon you summoned, did you?”

“Well, _yeah_ , I did…” Sansa admitted as if it was nothing, a blush burning her cheeks. “It’s part of that whole Evocation thing after all, as you apparently already know …”

Arya threw her head back and laughed, though she didn’t sound happy at all. “Wow, well it wouldn’t have worked if you hadn’t, would it? And it did work; I can feel it in you. You’re different. There’s like this new strength bubbling in you, I should’ve noticed it before actually.”

“You can feel it?” Sansa asked, her interest piqued.

“Of course I can! You can feel my strength, can you?” Arya told her, her face twisting in a sneer, same as if Sansa’s question had been stupid. “One way or another, it doesn’t change that what you did is _cra-zy_! To summon a devil and then let him screw you? That’s some intense shit, Sansa!” she shouted, clearly still in shock. “You really wanted power, didn’t you? To go to such length!”

Sansa didn’t remember having ever been scolded by her sister, though the opposite had certainly happened quite a few times. It was a strange and unpleasant experience and soon, tears were welling so much in her eyes at that she was nearly rendered blind. She sniffed, abashed and yet the truth needed to come out. “I was just… just so tired of being _inadequate_. You don’t know how it feels! You have Skill!” she let out bitterly, crying well and truly now. “You have Skill, but I have none – none at all! - no matter how hard I try…”

“Well, you’re mistaken here. I do know _very well_ how it feels to be inadequate,” Arya retorted, crossing her arms before her chest. “I may have Skill and a talent for casting spells, that’s apparently all I’m good at. You’re the one who’s an A grade student, who sings well, who’s beautiful and elegant, --”

“But it’s not the same at all! Those are all things you could work on!” Sansa pointed out. “You could be good at school if you put your heart into it and you’re not ugly either, Arya! You just don’t seem to care about your appearance and don’t put any effort in it either. You never agree when I offer to show you how to apply makeup properly or to lend you some of my clothes. Unlike you, with no Skill, there was never any way I improved my Craft, no matter how hard I tried! I was stuck!”

“Not anymore, apparently. You did find a way to gain Skill after all …” Arya commented, eying her cynically.

“ _Exactly_!” Sansa replied, drying her tears with the back of her hand. “This Evocation, it was the last hope I had of ever becoming a true witch… And it worked, Arya! _It worked!_ The demon I summoned, he promised me he would help me become very powerful and this morning when I woke up, I indeed managed to weave my very first spells _ever_ and remove the scorch marks there was on my chest of drawers, bed posts and writing dask, to repair my curtains and comforter. I even succeeded in healing the scratches I had and--’

“Your furniture caught fire?!” Arya cut her, jumping in place.

Somehow as she spoke, Sansa had not realised how bewildering her tale would be to her sister. “Well, yeah. I mean, I opened a breach between this world and the Seven Hells so it was to be expected, I guess,” she replied uneasily. “My whole room caught aflame for a brief instant when the demon arrived. It was scary!”

“Wow, that’s intense! No wonder it reeks of smoke so much! Good job on your spells, though you didn’t do so well with that mean cut you have on your hand. It barely seems healed at all to me. I’ll need to show you how to do it.”

Without thinking, Sansa removed her hand from her chest and looked at her palm. The slash was an angry crimson and the skin around it a paler shade of red and swollen. It didn’t look so good indeed. “I didn’t think of heeling that one, don’t know why. When I looked myself in the mirror this morning after I woke up and saw all the scratches I had on my skin, I just wanted to be rid of those. I emptied my whole well doing it.”

“You had scratches? What the hells did that demon do to you?” 

Sansa blushed deeply, embarrassed to have to share details of her previous night. “He did not do it on purpose, not really! It’s just that… that he has claws. So, _you know_ … in the heat of the moment…”

“He has claws? Eww, Sansa! That’s gross!” Arya cried out, sticking her tongue out.

“Well he’s a demon, Arya! He’s not gonna look like you and me!”

Her features twisted in an expression of disgust, Arya snorted, clearly not convinced. “Does he have hooves too, and a tail and horns while we’re at it?” she inquired mockingly.

“No tail and hooves - _thankfully_!” Sansa let out, glancing at the celling as if the thank the Seven. “But he… he does have horns and wings...”

That caught Arya’s interest. “Wings? Can he fly?” she asked, all traces of revulsion vanishing from her face in a split second.

“I don’t know, we just stayed in my room and I didn’t ask him.”

Disappointed, Arya frowned at her sister. “Remember to do it when you see him next. I’d really like to know.” Then, her frown deepening, she went on: “What does he looks like apart from that?”

Sansa felt her face grow even warmer, but she answered nonetheless. “Well, he’s quite impressive actually. I was really frightened when he first took form in my room! And was still when he left to be honest… He’s really, _really_ tall - like almost seven feet to be sure! - and _sooo_ muscular, more than anyone I’ve ever met. His skin is grey and burning to the touch! His eyes are probably the strangest part of him, though. They have oblong pupils and glow in the darkness. It’s very unsettling to look at them, I’ll tell you that! His wings are membranous, like bat wings, huge and black. Oh, and he has that odd, very long tongue-”

“Eww, I think I’ve heard enough for now! Don’t want to know where that was going…” Arya cut her. Grimacing, she shook her head. “Gods! He must be quite a fucking sight! And to think that you’ve always mooned over the most generic and boring pretty boys. I can hardly believe it! You’ve just lost your virginity to a monster! And now, you’ll be bound to him forever, Sansa.”

Sansa didn’t add anything to that. She still had a hard time wrapping her head around the concept of it. It was all very abstract, impossible to grasp. _Forever:_ what did that even mean?

“So, you said you wanted me to help you? What is it that you’d like me to do?” Arya demanded after a moment of silence.

“Oh yes, Arya! _Please_!” Sansa exclaimed, grabbing both of her sister’s upper arms. Arya flinched, but she didn’t attempt to take her distances. “You need to help me! We have to find a way to get rid of that smell and of the demon’s psychic scent. I don’t want the parents to find out what I did when they come back home tomorrow!”

Gazing at her like she was retarded, Arya burst out laughing. “How by the Stranger do you imagine you could ever hide something like _that_ from people who live under the same bloody roof as you? The best we could do would be to keep it from them for a day or two at the _very_ _most_ , but even there, there’s really no guarantee we’d succeed.”

Sansa knew her sister was right, of course. She was no idiot; that scent the Hound exuded, it was far too strong to mask! He could only appear during nighttime and if Sansa was always home at night, so were her parents. There was no way they didn’t feel his presence!

“Oh gods! You’re right, I know it of course! But couldn’t we at least try? I would rather not have to tell them right away. I’ll take any delay you can offer! It’ll give me time to gather my courage. Oh, please, Arya! Tell me you’ll help me?” Sansa pleaded, tightening her fingers around her sister’s upper arms.

Arya hesitated for a couple of seconds, but in the end, she gave in. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. You’ll owe me a favour though, you realise that? A really big one!”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sansa threw her arms around her sister and hugged her, feeling her skinny frame grow stiff. “Oh, thank you, Arya! Thank you so much! Don’t worry, you’ll only have to ask when you’ll need my help! I’ll be there for you, whatever it is!” she promised.

****

For the following few hours, Arya weaved a number of spells. The first she cast was to eliminate the reek of smoke in the house. Then she carried on with all sorts of random, innocuous spells in the hope that such an abundance of magic would mask the Hound’s psychic scent. Arya was clever, Sansa thought in a mix of envy and pride, because instead of emptying her well in order to achieve all of that, she tapped the energy that had been released with the Hound’s arrival and trapped in the house afterwards and used it for her spells. By doing so, she solved two problems at once without using even a drop of her own power. That was ingenious, Sansa had to admit, and another proof of her sister’s talent in Craft.

Later on, when barely any trace of the Hound’s psychic scent was left in the air and the stench of smoke gone for good, both sisters sat on the couch together, drinking a glass of soda as they waited for the frozen pizza they had put in the oven for dinner to be cooked.

“Oh, bloody Hells! I can’t do it,” Arya groaned in frustration, releasing Sansa’s hand. She had been attempting for the last few minutes to heal Sansa’s cut but kept failing. “There’s like some sort of shield around it, like it’s been put there so that you keep your scar,” she commented.

Looking at her palm, Sansa touched her scar delicately with her finger. It was still slightly sensitive and swollen. “The Hound licked it to stop the bleeding. You think it may be because of it?”

Arya grimaced, not bothering to hide her revulsion. “He licked it? No wonder he’s called the Hound! But yeah, it’s probably it. It would make sense if he wanted you to stay marked. That cut, it symbolised the offering you’ve made. He wants you to keep it.”

Sansa nodded distractedly. “He did say I needed to be branded now that I think about it. I’ll have to hide it. And I’ll try to come up with a believable story, if ever the parents see it, or anyone at school.”

“Mum and dad will notice it - it’s inevitable! - but you may manage to conceal it for a time. One way or another, it’s not like you’ll be able to keep this summoning you did from them for very long. You do realise that from the _instant_ your demon next appears in your bedroom, all of our good work will go to waste? Every one present in this house will sense his presence, there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind about it. And if he comes tonight, well it won’t leave us a lot of time to remove his psychic scent from the air. You’ll need to stop him from visiting you for as long as you can if you truly wish to delay confronting the parents about it.”

At a lost, Sansa gazed at her sister with wide eyes filled with worry. “How am I even supposed to do that, Arya? I have no clue at all!”

“Oh, gods, you really are starting from square one, are you?” Arya replied, rolling her eyes. “Well, I guess I’ll have to teach you to shield yourself. It’s magic 101 and can be very useful when you don’t want to be bothered with the telepathic thoughts of others or stuff like that.”

“Thank you, Arya! Yes! I certainly would like to learn that!” Sansa let out, utterly relieved that her sister had a solution to this fix. How very resourceful she was!

Waving her gratefulness with the back of her hand, Arya straightened her back and closed her eyes. “First, I advise that you shut your eyes to better focus on your spell,” she started.

Sansa obeyed and waited for her to continue.

“Picture a huge brick wall, high and tall going all around you, and even over you like the roof of a castle, and then concentrate on the ball of energy there is in your core.”

“Yes,” Sansa said, feeling the strength in her flicker like fire.

“Tap that energy and visualise it going into your wall.”

Sansa did as she was asked, her power flaring.

“Gods! Not so fast, you’ll exhaust yourself! Stop it!” Arya ordered in near panic. She seized her sister’s wrist and yanked at it, as if to wake her up.

Jumping in surprise, Sansa opened her eyes and released the hold she had on her spell. “Was it really that bad?” she asked, panting. She was feeling very tired indeed, she realised, and leaned into the couch.

“You’re joking right? That was fucking intense, Sansa!” Arya said, laughing nervously. For a moment, she remained silent, staring at her in a strange mix of concern and wonder. “Your spell worked alright, though,” she added. “Your shield is strong, very strong, but you’ve just managed to empty your well all over again in like two seconds! That’s crazy and so bloody dangerous! You have a lot of power, probably too much for someone who never has had a drop of it and has no clue of how to use it. You just threw it all with no restraint whatsoever and wasted a whole bunch of it in the process! You’ll need to learn to manage it. What you just did, it was just like if you tried to fill a shot glass with a firefighter hose opened to full pressure. Chances are, you’ll end up breaking your glass instead of filling it! I think you’ll be needing lessons from now on, a whole lot of them, and not just from me. There are limits to my knowledge in Craft.”

Sansa grimaced. “Thank you, Arya. Thank you so much. You’re the greatest!”

****

On that night, Sansa laid for a long time in her bed, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. It was eerily quiet in her room, but the silence did little to quell her nerves and she found herself unable to sleep. Every now and then, she would sense a strange pull inside of her and at times she even fancied she could smell the Hound’s alien animalistic odour. Yet for all of that, her shield held up and no demon was to be seen. As Arya had taught her, every few hours Sansa visualised the imaginary brick wall she had built around herself and tapped additional energy into it. Following her sister’s instruction, she was extremely careful not to use to much of it at a time, though such restraint required a control she still struggled to master.

Unbidden, images of her previous night kept coming back to her, of how restlessly the Hound had taken her till daybreak, of how much she had moaned and gasped in pleasure… It was degrading, the thought of how he had used his power to make her wanton and horny in order that she didn’t resist as he subjected her to his most primal demonic urges. He had controlled and used her like she was a mere doll he could do whatever he willed with and satiated his every fancy with her without caring even one bit if it was something she truly wanted.

Sansa was disgusted and somewhat affronted… and yet… and yet as she remembered every detail of the night of debauchery she had spent with the Hound, she couldn’t stop the warmth which was pooling down her lower belly from spreading. That she be aroused at the memory of it made little sense, still it took her every bit of self-will she had not to give in to the intent craving she had of touching herself.

With much effort, Sansa held on and, eventually after what seemed like many hours of tossing and turning into her bed, she fell asleep.

****

On the following day, Sansa’s parents arrived back home in the early afternoon. From her room’s window, Sansa watched them as they both stepped out of dad’s gleaming, sober black car. Mum and dad walked toward the family’s Victorian manor’s doorway, Bran and Rickon running after them even as Sansa’s heart beat a little faster in her chest with each step they took.

They entered the house and Arya rejoined them in the hallway to greet them. Wringing her hands, Sansa waited and listened, too nervous to face them just yet.

“Arya! Guess what we did this week end? Bran and me went rock climbing at the mountains by uncle Benjen’s house! It was so cool, except Bran never waited after me!” Rickon nearly shouted as he entered.

“Pfff! That does sound like Bran!” Arya replied. “I’m glad to hear you had fun.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault if he’s so slow!” Bran retorted

“Anyone’s slow when climbing with you, Bran,” Arya pointed out.

“Children! Won’t you please stop bickering all the time?” mum said, not unkindly. She sighed audibly. “How was your week-end, Arya?”

“Fun! I went to Weasel’s house. We watched horror movies and ate pop corn for dinner. We had a blast!” Arya replied with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Silence fell after that and Sansa could almost feel how mum’s interest was suddenly piqued. She heard her sniff and swirl around.

“What’s that? The air is thick and coppery. You’ve been quite active with your Craft practice, haven’t you, Arya?”

“You’re right, Cat. There’s been a lot of activity in here,” dad’s deep voice came. He sounded suspicious, like he was suspecting Arya had misbehaved as she so often did.

“Well… I just… I just figured I could show a few tricks to… to Sansa,” Arya admitted.

“To Sansa?” mum repeated, puzzled. “Why… why would you--”

There was no turning back now. Even as her sister spoke, Sansa strode down the grand staircase until she had rejoined her family in the hallway. Out of breath, she waved at everyone. “Hi, mum! Hi, dad!” she told them shyly. As always, both mum and dad were dressed in elegant yet practical, dark clothing.

“Good afternoon, Sansa. How are…” Mum frowned, pausing to look her over, her gaze going up and down her frame. She narrowed her eyed and took as couple of steps back, same as an artist taking some distance from their canvas to better assess it. Her face lit up. “Sansa… Am I not mistaken, or have you… have you…?”

Before Sansa could utter a single word, Arya interposed herself: “Yes, mum. It happened! Sansa… _Sansa has blossomed_ … She has become a witch well and truly over the week-end!”

Her face burning in shame, Sansa watched as her mother’s, bothers’ and father’s features all lite up. Everyone was ecstatic.

“Sansa! This is wonderful! You… your Skill has finally quickened! I’m so happy!” mum cried out, her eyes teary.

“Oh, honey, this is amazing!” dad exclaimed, his genuine expression of joy breaking her heart.

Rickon and Bran strode to her, smiling. “Yay! Now you’ll be able to cast spells, just like Arya!” Rickon shouted. He always loved it when their sister weaved spells to amuse him, like when she controlled his action figures and orchestrated huge battles among them or made his bed levitate while he laid in it as she read him his bedtime story.

Sansa was uneasy and consumed with guilt. She felt as if she was lying to her family for they didn’t know of the unorthodox way she had managed to win that new power she had, but for the moment, she couldn’t find it in her to tell them the whole truth. They would learn of it soon enough anyhow.

“Yeah, I’m so happy!” Sansa said as enthusiastically as she could. “I’ve been praying for that moment for so long!”

“Didn’t I tell you you didn’t have to worry?” mum said with a large motherly smile. “For some women, power takes longer to arise. Though we tried to accept it, I’ve never genuinely believed you could be without Skill. For nearly a thousand years, there has never been a Tully or Stark women without Strength. It was just a question of time.”

Sansa tried hard not to lose her smile at that. While it had certainly not been her intention, her mother’s comment brought her to feel even more worthless. _Gods, am I really such an exception? The only one so powerless in a thousand years? The only one who had to conjure a devil to gain strength…_

Although it didn’t stop her from feeling ashamed of her actions, in the end her mother’s comment did comfort Sansa in her decision. There was no regretting having called forth the Hound, not in these conditions. _Sandor,_ she remembered. _That’s how he wants me to call him._ With their alliance, she would save face and not be _that_ Stark. She wasn’t sure how her parents would react when they’d learn of her Evocation. They wouldn’t be pleased, that was a given, however, they would get used to the idea with time. It was not like they would have any other option anyway.

And with that, Sansa gulped and forced herself to grin. “Yes, mum, it was just a question of time,” she agreed. Everything would be okay, she told herself as she wrapped her arms around he mother in a hug.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! A new update for this one! I do hope that those who read it will enjoy! Please let me know if you do! :D
> 
> Just so that you know, in this fic, Meryn and Boros are of an age with Joffrey and Sansa.

“Hurry up now! We’re going to be late!” Arya let out impatiently. Her brow furrowed and eyes wide, she was waiting by the bathroom door with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Sorry!” Sansa exclaimed. With shaking fingers, she applied some of mum’s concealer over the dark circles she had under her eyes as fast as she could.

The night had been long and restless for Sansa. She had barely slept and had only been unconscious for a couple of hours at the most when her alarm-clock went off. Without even realising what she was doing, she had pressed on the snooze key many, many times until her sister finally shook her awake some ten minutes ago. Sansa usually rose much earlier than Arya and left a good twenty minutes before her. She liked to take her time in the morning and to arrive in advance at school, yet today would be a sad exception to the rule. She was so late, there was no time to even eat and fix her hair properly. She looked an utter mess, but there was no helping it! There was simply no time!

“Enough now! Let’s go!” Arya insisted, pulling her by the arm.

Sansa didn’t resist and they both climbed down the stairs and ran to the entranceway. Outside, the weather was a bit chilly and so Sansa put on her cute marine blue trench coat over her school uniform. Arya was clad in her usual leather jacket and combats boots, both of which contrasted oddly with the plaid pleaded skirt and simple white blouse every girl wore at the private high school they attended.

“So, you managed to block him again last night, huh?” Arya asked even as they both jogged through the street that led to their school

“I did,” Sansa replied, already out of breath. “Don’t know for how long I can keep this up - this shield is really draining me! I barely slept last night. I kept feeling this strange pull inside of me. It was stronger than on the previous night. He’s not happy, I can tell!” With that, Sansa groaned as a pang went through her foot. Gods, those ballerina shoes she was wearing may be flats, they were not well-suited to running.

“You may be losing strength. You did get your new power through him, so perhaps you need to constantly get laid to keep it? Like he has magic, demon jizz or something?”

“Eww, Arya! You’re gross!” Sansa let out, grimacing. “But, yeah, I did wonder about it too, just not in those words,” she admitted grudgingly. “For the time being, I still have Skill though, it’s just that I need a proper night of sleep! I’ll try to keep the Hound away a little longer still. I’m not ready to tell the parents about him yet.”

Arya laughed and, in her distraction, she almost tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, yet she thankfully managed to regain her footing and kept jogging. “You won’t have to tell them,” she said once she had recovered. “They’ll know the second your demon comes to you.”

At that instant, the school’s bell was heard ringing from afar, informing them they only had ten minutes until the first class started.

“Oh, gods!” Sansa squeaked in panic.

“ _Hurry_!” Arya shouted, breaking into a run.

Sansa tried to follow suit, yet she was much slower than her sister. Those thin ballerinas were really _the worst_! Still, how Arya could run so fast with half laced combat boots was a true mystery. _A spell!_ Sansa realised as she caught a faint metallic whiff. If only she was not so drained from keeping that shield up, she might have done the same.

“Sorry, can’t wait after you! If I have one more detention, dad has threatened to take away my phone for a whole week! This is _not_ happening!” Arya cried out even as she sprinted faster and faster, until Sansa had lost sight of her.

Running all the way to the school grounds took forever to Sansa and she was completely exhausted by the time she finally walked though the threshold. All of her efforts proved worthless though, as the bell rang a second time just an instant after she had stepped inside. _Oh, by the Seven!_ Sansa thought, her heart in her throat. She was late - for the first time ever in her life, _she was late to school_! She almost wanted to weep at the notion – this was not like her at all! - yet she managed to hold back her tears, somehow, and resumed running through the corridor.

While being late of a minute or fifteen wouldn’t change a thing, Sansa’s pride pushed her to keep hurrying towards her class without passing by her locker to drop her coat first. When she entered the classroom, out of breath and dishevelled, her cheeks reddened as all of the other students peered her way in curiosity.

“Sansa, here you are. You are late, young lady,” Mrs. Mordane remarked, a frown creasing her brow.

“I know! I’m so sorry, Mrs. Mordane. I didn’t hear my alarm-clock as it went off this morning,” Sansa told her sheepishly.

The old woman did look sorry for her. “Go take your place, Sansa. I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to give your name to Principal Baelish for his after-school detention.”

Gulping, Sansa nodded and sat down before her desk at the centre of the classroom. This was going to be a long day. It had barely started and she was already more tired than she usually was before going to bed and now, she would need to stay after school on top of that! And Principal Baelish… Sansa shuddered at the thought of having to spend time with the man. At least in detention, she wouldn’t be alone with him. _I’m being mean,_ Sansa scolded herself. Mr. Baelish was a childhood friend of her mother and he had never been nothing but kind to her. Yet that was exactly what was bothering her in fact. He always gave her far more attention and importance than she was comfortable with. There was just something… something off about him which Sansa couldn’t put her finger on.

As Mrs. Mordane resumed her lecture about adverbs, Sansa heard a snigger coming from behind her. She didn’t have to turn around to know who this was.

“Little miss perfect is late. Not so perfect after all,” Joffrey whispered from his place behind her.

Laughter were heard after that, no doubt his cronies on each side of him.

While Sansa tried to ignore them, there was no stopping the way her throat contracted painfully, same as it always did when she was just about to cry. Hearing Joffrey mock her like that was so hurtful! They had been an item just over a week ago and she had believed him to be her prince charming, that he loved her... In hindsight, Sansa had to admit that even when they’d still been dating, he had not always been so nice with her, yet she had supposed it was normal that he teased her, something any regular boyfriend did to his girlfriend from time to time.

“Spent all night crying, have you? _Boohoo! I’m not with Joffrey anymore_ ,” Boros murmured, taking a high-pitched voice that was meant to sound like hers.

“Stop it!” Sansa retorted. Without thinking, she jerked her head back to shoot them a reproachful look.

“Gosh, look at her! Not as pretty as she used to be. So glad I dumped her,” Joffrey spat with a disgusted air on his face.

More sniggers were heard and Sansa’s eyes were starting to burn with unshed tears. Embarrassed, she swiftly turned back her head before they could see her tear up.

“Joffrey, Borros, hush now, or I’ll give your name to Mr. Baelish for his detention as well. You heard me?” Mrs. Mordane warned them sternly.

“Yes, Mrs. Mordane,” they each replied in turn, as nonchalantly as they could get away with without putting themselves into more trouble.

Thankfully for Sansa, Joffrey and his pals left her alone for the remaining of the English class. Nevertheless, sitting so close to them with her back turned was incredibly nerve-racking. What if they threw something in her hair? She’d seen them do it to some other girls in the past, though at the time, she had kept her disapproval to herself. Displeasing her boyfriend had always been the last thing she wanted, and she sort of regretted her inaction now. Every now and then, she could hear them whisper and the sniggers that followed were not only those of Joffrey and his friends. No doubt they were making fun of her and the fact that they were involving other students made it all the worse. Would she soon become the school’s new laughing stock thanks to Joffrey? There was no way she be truly attentive to what Mrs. Mordane said in these conditions. Today was an utter waste of time!

When the bell announcing the end of the first class finally rang, Sansa had already stored her notebook in her backpack and gathered her trench coat in her arms. She all but ran out of the classroom, fearing that she might be followed by Joffrey, Boros and Meryn, yet as she exited and she saw Margaery waiting in the hallway, she knew she was okay. Joffrey probably didn’t want his new girlfriend to see just how much of a jerk he truly was and he had sort of behaved so far when she was by his side.

That didn’t make the encounter any less awkward - for Sansa at least. As for Margaery, she didn’t seem bothered by her presence in any way to be honest. From the instant she noticed her, she smiled kindly at her and Sansa did her best to do the same before scurrying away from her. The last thing she wanted was to struck up a conversation with her ex-friend. Not only did she feel betrayed and wounded by her callousness in seducing Joffrey while hey were still together, but on top of that, she didn’t want her to find out about her newfound power. Having Skill herself, Margaery would sense the change in her if they were to find themselves in close distance. For the moment, Sansa preferred not to have to make up some story of how she had suddenly blossomed. As for Joffrey, he was so flat, he would never know. She didn’t need to worry about him, for that at least.

Sansa’s other morning class went by uneventfully, but she was so tired, she struggled to keep her eyes opened. It didn’t help that, as Arya had taught her, she tapped a bit of power in her shield at the beginning of it. She had to do it every few hours, even during daytime, or else her shield wouldn’t hold up. It would be more power-consuming to build a new one every night than to just maintain this one, nevertheless the process of sustaining it was tiring. Afterwards, she always felt just as dizzy and feeble as after having had a blood sample taken from her.

Sansa was distracted, her mind kept turning with thoughts of Joffrey and of how awful he was with her, of the Hound and of the way she had kept him away for the last couple of days, of the web of lies she had entangled herself in… Opening her palm, she gazed at the ugly scar she had given herself to call forth the Hound. _Will he be mad at me when we next see each other?_ Sansa knew the answer; she had felt his rage in the dead of night for a brief instant yesterday and the notion was bloodcurdling. For all of that, she was just as anxious when she imagined her parents’ reaction to learning about her Evocation. But the worse in it all was that, whatever she did, there would be no escaping either: she would need to face the music eventually where both options were concerned!

At lunchtime, Sansa ate her sandwich with not an ounce of appetite, which was surprising seeing that she had had no time for breakfast. Podrick and Jeyne commented on how tired she seemed and both blamed Joffrey and his bullying for her poor state. Sansa didn’t contradict them; it was not as if Joffrey’s actions were not preoccupying enough to cause her bouts of insomnia. Telling them the whole truth about her sleepless nights was totally out of the question of course. And anyway, even if she had, they’d never have believed her and would simply think she was losing her mind. Regular skilless mortals were totally unaware that magic even existed and the great witch families of the world had every intention of keeping it that way, forever if possible. Anything that had to do with magic couldn’t be disclosed to people of normal blood - that was one of her people’s laws.

Jeyne and Podrick did notice the cut in her palm, but Sansa proceeded to tell them the story of how she was emptying the dishwasher on Friday evening and accidently grabbed a kitchen knife by its blade. Both winced in pain at the thought of it and swore to inform their parents of the dangers they faced when doing the dishes. Sansa was the living proof it was probably best if the chore was left to others with more experience.

The remaining of the day went by very slowly and started with one more ordeal for Sansa. Indeed, to her distress, her math teacher announced seconds after the bell had rang that the class would begin with a test, a test she had completely forgotten about! It proved to be very arduous and she was extremely worried when she was forced to hand her copy to the teacher. Hopefully she would not fail!

Things didn’t get any better after that. Her shield had to be looked after again and so Sansa reluctantly tapped what little energy she had into it. The process drained her so much that she straight out fell asleep on her desk a few minutes later. It was her math teacher who woke her up, calling her name from the front of the classroom, which was so incredibly humiliating! The gods were certainly to thank that Joffrey was not among her classmates, or else he would have rubbed it in her face till the end of times. Sansa made sure not to fall asleep for what was left of her class and she was happy when after the break, her physic teacher announced they would do a lab since having to interact and actually do something meant that her somnolence would be easier to fight. Her teammate was Podrick and she did feel guilty for how clumsy and without an ounce of initiative she was, but he did most of the work and did not complain. He was such a sweetheart.

When the last bell rang, Sansa apologised for the hundredth time to Pod for how unhelpful she had been. He understood, he assured her, and after having given him a grateful smile, she grabbed her backpack and headed to the detention room. _The day’s almost over,_ she told herself in near glee. Only another half-hour and she would head back home and take a most needed nap. Feeling already better just at the prospect, Sansa turned the last corner of the hallway that led to the detention room, yet her newborn good humour vanished in a heartbeat as she all of a sudden came face to face with Joffrey, Boros and Meryn. They had been waiting for her, she realised in dismay.

“Look whose arriving in advance to her detention: little miss perfect, as always,” Meryn sneered, grabbing her by the arm.

Both Boros and Meryn were much sturdier than Joffrey and they always did his dirty work, for some reason. Sansa had never liked neither and she was starting to straight out despise them now that Joffrey had broken up with her and that they’d turned against her.

 “Leave me alone!” Sansa cried out. Even as she spoke, she tried to pull her arm free, but Meryn’s grip was too strong.

“She was not so perfect as a girlfriend though. So fucking prude,” Joffrey commented, gazing at her with disdain.

“I bet she wants to wait until she marries to lose her virginity, or perhaps she wants to become a septa?” Meryn said.

Joffrey sniggered. “I could see that happening! She’ll never get on her knees for any man, so she might as well do it for the gods.”

All three boys laughed at that.

“Let me go!” Sansa pleaded, her eyes prickling.

Using all of her strength, she tried to free herself from Meryn’s grasp, but her attempt proved vain. Worse, even as she did, Borros slid his hand behind her backpack, grabbed the back of her bra through her blouse and pulled at it hard until it snapped against her skin.

Sansa yelped, feeling her face grow red and burning in shame. Tears were gathering in her eyes now, but she had to fight the urge to weep she had. Breaking in tears before Joffrey and his cronies would please them far too much.

“What’s happening here,” came a familiar voice.

With that, everyone froze in place and turned to see their principal, Mr. Baelish, gazing at them through narrowed eyes.

“Boros, Joffrey, Meryn: in the detention room. I’ll be keeping you as well for harassing Miss Stark,” he informed them severely.

“But, Mr. Baelish, we were just talking to her! Tell him, Sansa! Nothing happened,” Joffrey insisted, glaring at Sansa.

“I won’t have you intimidate Miss Stark like that. You think you’re fooling me? I saw what happened. If you don’t get inside at once, I’ll keep the three of you in detention tomorrow as well, understood? Inside now!” Mr. Baelish ordered, pointing at the detention room’s door.

The three boys obeyed, though they were obviously pissed, and Sansa didn’t miss the look of reproach Joffrey sent her before he entered, as if this was all her fault somehow!

“Sansa, sweetling, are you all right?” Mr. Baelish whispered once they were alone.

While she fought against it, Sansa couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. Abashed, she hid her face in her palms, her body shaking with repressed sobs.

“My poor sweetling. Get in my office, I have some tissues,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. The principal’s office was right next to the detention room and he guided her inside.

Sansa did as he bade, still she couldn’t help but be a bit nervous. Being alone in closed quarters with Mr. Baelish always made her uncomfortable, yet today, a part of her was also relieved to get a chance to hide while her outburst passed.

Once they were inside, Mr. Baelish shut the door behind him and fetched a couple of tissues for her.

“Here, sweetling,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t cry for Joffrey; he’s not worth it. You were always far too good for him.”

“Thank you, Mr. Baelish,” Sansa said, drying her face. She blew her nose as daintily as she could and threw the used tissues in the garbage can.

“Petyr,” he told her. “When there’s no other students, call me by my first name. We’re almost family, aren’t we?” With that, he smiled at her, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Biting at her lip, Sansa nodded hesitantly. Mr. Baelish had indeed been her mother’s neighbour as they both grew up and he had remained close to the Tullies, especially to her aunt Lysa. He was of a witch family too and the thought of it suddenly put Sansa on edge, for good reasons, she realised as he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Sansa… What… there’s something… something different about you. Have you…?”

 _Oh, gods, no,_ Sansa thought, unwittingly hiding her scarred hand against her chest. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to explain herself and lie to Mr. Baelish, yet there was no way out of this. For a man, he was especially sensitive to magic. Her newfound Skill was not something she could hide from him.

“Sansa… it has finally happened, haven’t it? You’ve become a witch!” he breathed in amazement. His eyes boring into hers, he closed in the gap between them until he was way too near for Sansa’s comfort.

“I have,” Sansa replied, backing away from him as much as she could without being rude. “It… it happened this week-end.”

“This is so wonderful, Sansa!” Mr. Baelish said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Glancing at it uneasily, Sansa forced herself to nod and smile. Keeping eye contact with him was hard. The way he looked at her, it was so strange, not like a teacher or principal ought to gaze at a student.

“If ever you need any help, just ask me. I don’t cast spells myself of course, being _only_ male, but I know the theory of magic better than anyone. I can sense a lot, more than most, but I was almost an adult before I developed to me full potential. In that, we’re very alike, sweetling. We have much in common - I think you would profit a lot from my knowledge and help.”

With that, Mr. Baelish caressed her cheek with his knuckles and Sansa flinched slightly, a shiver going down her spine. _This is not appropriate,_ she thought, her pulse resounding in her ears. She often wished she could share that bad feeling she had about him with someone who could counsel her about it and tell her if she was right or wrong in her concern, yet as Mr. Baelish was a family friend and her school’s principal, she wasn’t sure to whom she could turn to. Besides, what if she was wrong? She couldn’t risk ruining his reputation for what was probably nothing - that would be really horrible of her!

“Thank you so much. Yes, I’ll be sure to ask if ever I need advices or anything,” Sansa said out of politeness, averting her gaze. “I… maybe I should rejoin the others in the detention room now?”

“Oh, sweetling, you don’t have to go. It’s the first time you’re late in four years and I can see that that new power of yours is wearing you out. Go rest.”

While the offer was tempting, Sansa knew it would be wiser to refuse. “Oh, no, I’d rather stay. What would the other students think? I don’t want them to believe I get special treatment.”

“Hmm, smart girl. You’re right of course,” Mr. Baelish agreed. Then he contemplated her pensively for a moment and added: “If you need to talk, about Joffrey, your new Skill or anything else, my door is always open. You know that?”

“Of course. Thank you, Mr. Baelish,” Sansa replied with a stiff smile.

“Petyr,” he corrected, frowning.

“Petyr,” Sansa repeated reluctantly. She couldn’t wait to be out of here and figured it was best that she humoured him.

The smile he gave her was wider, but once again didn’t seem sincere at all, still he opened the door for Sansa and she scurried out of his office at once.

As she entered the detention room, Sansa was very careful not to look at Joffrey or his pals for fear that they noticed her swollen, red eyes and made fun of her later on. She sat in the first row as far, as she could from them, and was relieved when they didn’t follow her once detention was over.

When Sansa arrived back home a little after 4pm, she headed straight to her room with the intent of taking a nap. First though, she had to, _once again,_ tap some strength into her shield. Sansa groaned; she had had enough of constantly weakening herself like that – it didn’t feel natural to do so when she was already so worn out. Holding up a shield at all time was demanding work and did not allow time for her power to regenerate fully. She couldn’t keep this up for very long, that was a given…

After having sacrificed what little drops of strength she had to spare, Sansa was so exhausted, she fell into deep, dreamless slumber from the moment her head touched her pillow. She probably would have slept through the evening and night, or so she believed as she bitterly sat up in her bed, if not for her mother waking her a couple of hours later.

“Darling, dinner is ready. You should eat something. It will give you strength just as much as sleep. I won’t have you waste away as so many girls do as they start blossoming. Wielding all that new power takes calories, just as exercise does. Your body needs food.”

Too fatigued to argue, Sansa nodded and groggily followed her downstairs. She ate her pork chop with rice and vegetables with a total lack of appetite, her eyes still only half open. Around her, her little brothers were restlessly chatting with Arya and her parents, but as for Sansa, she remained silent and barely listened to what they said. On a few occasions, her sister sent her a worried glance, one that said she was well aware of the struggle she was going through and not looking forward to the inevitable conclusion of it.

As for mum and dad, they kept gazing at her with a benevolent air upon their face, happy and proud, and Sansa felt like the most contemptible person ever for leading them on like that. She was the worst daughter _ever_.

When she was done eating, Sansa took a long and very warm shower and then, headed to her room. She tried to study, but it was a total waste of time. In the end, she stored her books back in her backpack, turned off the light and took place in bed. She still badly needed to rest, yet for all of that, sleep evaded her. She was too troubled, kept thinking of her day, of how horrible it had been. Joffrey mocking her, Mr. Baelish being… being weird. _I hope that he won’t insist that I spend more time with him, so that he teaches me things…_ Sansa shuddered at the thought of it. It was hard to refuse such an offer without coming off as rude. She wasn’t sure if she could do it… She was nice to a fault, Arya often told her.

Sansa also agonised over her parents. They were so happy for her and bound for the hugest disappointment of their lives when they learned of the despicable origins of her power. For how long could she keep the truth from them? _Not much,_ she mused, gazing out of her window. It was fully dark outside now, dark enough for _him_. Though it was very faint, she realised in sudden dread that she could sense him and smell the slightest hint of his psychic scent. Once more, Sansa fancied she could feel his anger. She knew the Hound would be mad at her for keeping him away and, being totally inexperienced with demons, she had no clue of what to expect his reaction would be when she finally allowed him to take form.

 _My shield is getting too flimsy,_ Sansa mused, shutting her eyes in despair. She knew she ought to reinforce it, yet she wasn’t even sure she could do it safely anymore. She didn’t have enough strength left, would risk using some of her vial energy if she so much as tapped a few drops of power into it.

It would be so easy to just let it go and perhaps it would be for the best indeed. It wasn’t as if having to face the Hound eventually was avoidable in any way and Sansa’s parents would need to learn the truth sooner or later. She could wait an additional day or two, but the end result would be the same, only with the Hound being madder and her growing exhausted to the point of risking her health.

Besides the truth was, a part of Sansa also craved the power she could gain from giving herself to the Hound. Feeling pure strength flow through her veins had been ecstatic. She wanted more of it, especially now that she was so weak. It would bring her back to life, would give her the courage she needed to face another horrific school day tomorrow.

As if the Hound could read her mind from wherever he was, warmth suddenly began spreading down Sansa’s lower belly. It was very subtle, but she recognised the same spell he had repeatedly cast on her on the night she called him forth from the Seven Hells. Was he trying to tempt her? Shutting her eyes, Sansa moaned softly as she remembered the pleasure his touch had woken in her. Gods, but it had been so good…

If the Hound was able to reach her with a spell, that had to mean her shield had thinned dangerously, so much so that it might very well break at any moment if she’s didn’t do something about it quickly. She ought to infuse what little strength she still had left in it, she knew it, yet she had had enough of emptying her well for the benefit of something that would been vain in the end anyway. This had lasted long enough.

 _Screw it,_ Sansa thought, breathing out a deep, shaking sigh. _I don’t want to fight anymore._

With that she released the hold she still had on her shield and waited anxiously to see what would happen. She expected an explosion of fire, flames as high as the ceiling to lick her walls and turn her furniture to dust, yet her room remained as dark as tar.

“Little bird,” a harsh whisper came from nowhere. “Little bird, you shouldn’t have done that.”

Then, in a split second, the Hound’s alien psychic scent grew overwhelming, as thick as steam and taking up the whole space of her room. Sansa let out a cry as he appeared just in front of her, standing before her bed. In the darkness, all she could distinguish was the shape of him: his tall horns, his bat-like wings closed behind his back, his tremendously muscled frame…

“You’ve been very cruel with me, have kept me away. Left me to rot in the Void…” he rasped menacingly. His strange animalistic eyes were blazing and narrowed at her in resentment. They were all she could clearly see of him and she stared at them with wide, terrified eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Sansa murmured. Her whole body shivering in fear, she sat up in her bed and pulled her comforter higher over her. “It’s just that… that…”

In that same instant, screams were heard coming from downstairs, followed by the sound of people running.

“What’s that?” the Hound asked gruffly, glancing behind himself in annoyance.

The loud banging steps of people running up the stairs were resounding in the house.  “Sansa! Sansa!” both of her parents were yelling, the fear in their voices breaking her heart.

“My parents,” Sansa squeaked. “They don’t know I have summoned you.”

The door handle began turning and Sansa’s body grew as tense as a guitar string. This was well and truly a catastrophe, a catastrophe that was entirely her fault! Yet before her parents could push the door open, the Hound lifted an arm in the air and opened his hand. A burst of energy flew from his palm and hit the door before swirling around them at the speed of light until it had surrounded them entirely. He has shielded the entire room, Sansa realised. Suddenly, absolute silence reigned and not a sound was heard apart from the hammering of her pulse in her ears.

“I won’t have us interrupted,” the Hound said, returning his blazing beast-like eyes on her. “We have some catching up to do.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I hope you enjoy. Please be kind enough to let me know if you do. :)

His blazing stare pinned on Sansa, the Hound was standing in front of her bed. For a few interminable seconds, he studied her in silence, his horned head tilted to the side and features twisted menacingly. Sansa was so afraid: she had no idea of what a wrathful devil might be capable of and she found herself literally petrified in place. Still, for all of that, the thought of her parents was preoccupying her just as much as her present predicament. What could they be doing just now? Her room was so quiet; it might as well have been floating in emptiness for as much as silence was complete, however, Sansa knew it to be false. At this very moment mere metres from her, her mother and father were almost certainly screaming in horror and attempting to break through the Hound’s shield. Would they succeed? Somehow, she doubted it. The spell he had cast was strong and his magic unlike that of the witches of her family’s congregation. It seemed incredibly ancient, old to the point of crudeness in fact, yet in spite of it, indecipherable and tremendously powerful.

“You did not answer” the Hound rasped eventually. “Why did you keep me away like that? Did I not hold my end of our little bargain and give you the power you craved?” he asked, his voice calm and yet as sharp as a blade. There was something ominous about his restraint, a knowledge that it could only get worse from here and Sansa’s frame stiffened even more. “In exchange, you were to open those pretty white legs of yours for me _every fucking night_ ,” he resumed more heatedly, taking a step towards the bed. His movements were fluid, like those of a panther and his blazing eyes shone in the dimness of the room in the same fashion as the beast’s. “You can’t feed a famished dog only to leave him to starve again afterwards. He’ll turn crazy and bark at your door till the end of times if you don’t sate his hunger again. Is that what you wanted, to test me, huh?”

“No! It was not like that at all! Please…. please don’t be mad at me,” Sansa begged him, her voice breaking.

The Hound’s scold deepened at hearing her plea and something akin to confusion passed in his strange eyes. “What was it then? Tell me.”

Tears were filling her eyes now, but Sansa forced herself to answer for fear that she angered him even more. “I… I just didn’t want my parents to learn about… about _you_. I didn’t have the courage to tell them so soon… all I wanted was a bit of time.”

The demon snorted and shook his head. “Well they know now, don’t they, so what did you win by shielding yourself from me for so fucking long? Nothing. And you made me suffer for that: _nothing_ .” With that, he gritted his teeth and let out a long, shaky breath. There was resentment in his eyes, resentment mixed in with pain. For a brief instant, he even seemed to suffer at the simple memory of those two days she had kept him away and Sansa was surprised by the guilt the sight awoke in he. _He’s a demon!_ she reminded herself. There was no knowing the horrific crimes he had committed in his life to deserve such punishment in his death, yet Sansa was too kind-hearted to stomach witnessing anyone suffer by her fault, even a demon.

“Two nights you kept me away. _Two bloody nights,_ ” the Hound muttered, his blazing stare fixed on her. “After all those centuries of rotting in the Seven Hells, it really should’ve been nothing, yet naught has ever seemed so long…”

“Please forgive me,” Sansa implored him, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “I… I wouldn’t have done it if I had known this would be so hard on you.”

“But you knew I was displeased. We are bounded; don’t pretend like you didn’t sense it,” he reproached.

He was right, there was no point in lying. “I’m sorry,” she breathed instead. “It won’t happen again, I swear it. I’ll make it up to you, will do whatever you ask…”

A spark passed through his eyes. “Really? Whatever I ask?” he repeated slowly. His gaze travelled over her body even as a roguish grin split his face and with that, Sansa all of a sudden regretted her words. His demeanour announced nothing good.

And indeed, the Hound didn’t lose an instant after that. Bending over, he grabbed a handful of her comforter and pulled it off of her, before throwing it to the floor. The pink nightgown Sansa was wearing was thin and she shivered at the contact of the room’ cold air against her skin.

“First, no more clothes,” the Hound started, climbing over the end of the mattress. The old wooden bed frame groaned in complaint under his no doubt impressive weight and Sansa tensed as he approached her. “That shift needs to be gone.” Leaning over her, he seized each side of her nightgown and yanked at it in opposite directions hard enough that it tore in one clean rip.

Though she had seen it coming, Sansa yelped in surprise. This was probably something she would have to get used to. Still, the thought that he might ruin each of her nighties like that was nonetheless sort of discouraging.

“You know what it is that I want, of course. There’s nothing complicated about it,” the Hound started. Lowering himself over her, he propped an arm by the side of her head, his brawny body touching her in places. “I want to fuck you long and hard. I want you to moan so much you have no voice left come morning. And I want it every night.”

As he spoke, the scent of metal began spreading in the air and warmth gathered down Sansa’s lower belly. She squirmed, feeling his nearly burning hot skin brush against hers. There was a bulge in his breeches, a hardness pressing against her, and the feel of it was somehow just as frightening as it was enticing.

“Also, no more bloody secrets,” the Hound hissed, lifting a hand to pinch her chin and force her to look at him.

His claws stung a little, they were long and dagger-sharp, and Sansa raised her gaze at once, not daring to risk displeasing him more than she already had. As if it didn’t hammer fast enough, her heartbeat hastened as she met his stare. His eyes were so piercing, same as if he could read right through her, like she was an open book to him.

“Our bound is not to be hidden from people sharing your roof. Seen what trying to keep your family from learning about me has brought you? You’re so bloody weak, just on the verge of losing what I have given you altogether. At least now, they know. There’ll be no coming back, you realise that now, don’t you, little bird?”

Sansa nodded, feeling very nervous even as her loins kept pulsing with the spell the demon had cast. It was an odd thing to be aroused and terrified at the same time. There was something just as threatening as intimate about the Hound’s position over her, about his touch on her cheek. In this proximity, she could see the desolation that was left of the left side of his face in minute details. His scars were not only hideous, but painful to behold for someone as empathic as Sansa. It must have hurt so much… she wondered how he had gotten them. Were they from the time he spent in those furnaces of the Seven Hells which were said to eternally consume thousands of demons at a time with their everlasting flames? But then if it was the case, why was his entire body not burned?

“You need me now, don’t you? I gifted you power stronger than you could have ever dreamed of, yet the first thing you do with it is build a fucking shied. A shield to block me: the very devil you got your Skill from! Ah, not very smart when you think about it. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you, but I can see you’ve learned from your mistake. This whole process has drained you so much, you’re literally wasting away. You won’t block me again, won’t you?”

Sansa shook her head. “I won’t.”

His mouth pulling in a faint smile, the Hound caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “Promise it.”

She shivered against him and bit at her lip. “I promise I won’t block you again,” Sansa whispered. Suddenly, she was very conscious of the way their bodies touched a little more with each breath she took, of just how heavy and hot he was.

“Now that’s the good little witch I know,” the demon said with satisfaction. He grinned, just long enough for moonlight to reflect on his teeth, and then pressed his lips on hers.

Instinctively, Sansa flinched, a shudder going down her spine. There was no taking her distances from the Hound though, for he only kissed her harder and slid his tongue in her mouth. His huge hand travelled down her stomach and found her folds, parting her lower lips and stroking her there.

His touch on her was good from the start, however there was no way she let go and enjoyed it truly. The fiend’s intense animalistic bodily smell and even stronger psychic scent were reminding her too much of all the things that had repelled her in him from the first instant she set eyes on him: that he was more beast then human, that his very presence among the living was an abomination. Same as on the night of Sansa’s Evocation, there was a dichotomy between her mind’s perception of the situation and the reactions of her body to the things he did to her. She felt lost, didn’t know what think or do…

“Stop fighting,” the Hound murmured against her lips. “A part of you is still resisting me. You shouldn’t. I’m here to give you what you want: _power and pleasure_. I’m naught but your servant… remember that, little mistress.”

Lowering his head down to her breasts, he took one of stiff nipple in his mouth. Sansa moaned and in that same instant, the Hound plunged a long finger in her. Slowly but surely, the coppery odour that floated in the air grew stronger and Sansa soon started to buck her hips against his hand even as he repetitively penetrated her with first one, then two fingers.

“Hmmm,” the Hound breathed roughly. “Yes, that’s better already.” With his thumb, he began tracing circles over her clit and Sansa’s groans became more languorous and loud.

The sensations of his hungry lips and tongue on her breasts coupled with that of his restless fingers and thumb were simply exquisite and Sansa was in no time writhing under him and whimpering like the most wanton woman she could ever have imagined. Her own behaviour was making her blush, but once more, there was no controlling those urges the demon roused in her.

“You want me to fuck you now, don’t you?” the Hound asked her against her now completely wet boobs. “Last time, I made you cry in ecstasy, over and over again. You loved it. No matter how troubled you were, I know you loved it. And you want more of it, don’t you?”

Her eyes half shut, Sansa breathed in deeply and nodded. “Yes… yes, please…” she admitted. His fingers were still working on her and she was so near her climax, she could almost taste it.

The Hound’s eyes darkened all the more at hearing her beg so nicely. “Seven Hells, but you’re going to get it tonight, little bird. And it’s going to do you some good. By the time I’m done with you, your well will be full to the brim with power, you’ll see. And that pretty little cunt of yours, full to the brim with my seed.” He laughed, a very strange and hoarse sound.

Squirming under him, Sansa was humming softly and barely listening to what the demon said. Her lips were mouthing the words of a silent payer, one she did not dare utter aloud. _Don’t stop, don’t stop…_ she repeated to herself even as waves of bliss coursed through her.

“You’re so soaked, I could just impale you with my cock in one single thrust right then and there, but I have another, better idea first.”

As he spoke, the demon removed his hand from between her legs and Sansa all but sobbed at the brutal withdrawal. She let out a long, pathetic lament and squeezed her thighs together, tears welling in her eyes.

Showing no pity for her anguish, the Hound only sniggered and stood to his knees. “Hush, little bird, no need to weep. Or will I need to silence you? I know just the way.”

He was naked, though Sansa was sure she had felt the fabric of his woolen breeches against her just moments before. Without missing a beat, the Hound moved forward - his enormous, charcoal-black dick stiff as a steel bar and standing straight before him - and the next thing she knew, he had straddled her neck and was sliding it between her slightly open lips.  

Despite the effect of surprise, Sansa found herself sucking at it greedily from the moment it touched her tongue. But it was so very big! Even taking half of it in her mouth was an accomplishment. As for the Hound, he was giving her no rest and continuously came and went between her lips, thankfully with less vigour than he had when screwed her on Friday night. Still, this was too intense for Sansa and she feared that she might choke if he kept at it.

For all of that, she was incredibly aroused and was sucking at his dick with more thirst than she could ever have imagined. She could literally feel herself dripping down her thighs. There was something about the taste of him that got her off, about the feel of such a massive member filling her mouth so thoroughly that drove her crazy with lust. She wondered what his seed tasted like, if he would come in her mouth tonight…

“A fast learner, aren’t you?” the Hound commented lowly in-between two pants. With both of his hands, he was holding her head and guiding his motion in her mouth, his fingers stroking her hair gently as he did. “The Seven be damned, you’re making me so bloody hard… I need to feel your tight little cunt around me. You could mount me, what do you say?”

With his penis all but gagging her, Sansa could hardly speak, but she moaned and nodded as best she could. She was in dire need of some stimulation; her folds were pulsing like a second heartbeat to the point of being painful. She longed for his touch, for him inside of her, more than she even did breathing.

Obviously satisfied with her response, the Hound removed his shaft from her mouth at once. A loud pop was heard as he did and Sansa gasped, breathing in deeply several times afterwards.

“Come over here,” the demon bade her. Spreading his wings wide so as not to crush them, he laid down on his back and pulled her over him.

Sansa’s crotch landed right over his erect member and she moaned as she came in contact with its nearly burning hot skin. Without thinking, she rolled her hips against him, shivering in delight at the intoxicating sensation it triggered.

“Hmm, look at you, Sansa,” he rasped, grinning at her. “I like you like that. Like a little bitch in heat.”

As he spoke, his spell became even stronger and Sansa rocked her pelvis with more vigour. She wanted to come so bad, didn’t know what to do with herself.

“Calm down now, you horny little witch, and take me in you.” Closing a huge paw around her waist, he lifted her and placed his penis at her entrance. Though he was undeniably very large, she slid down around him in one fluid movement. Moaning deeply, Sansa threw her head back even as stars filled her sight.

The Hound seemed to enjoy it as well, for he grunted and dig his clawed fingers in her hips. For a few long seconds, they stayed like that, barely moving and only relishing in the feeling of being connected.

Soon enough though, the demon had enough and bucked his hips, making Sansa sigh. “Come on, girl, ride me,” he prompted, baring his teeth in something nearer the challenging rictus of beast than an actual smile.

Obeying, she rolled her hips against his, gazing down at the monstrous creature beneath her. He was terrifying with his grey skin, huge open bat-wings, black horns and yellowish and grey, glowing eyes. And yet for some reason, the tightness in Sansa’s belly increased as she took him in. _It’s the spell,_ she told herself. _Only the spell._

“Fuck, but you feel good… So fucking tight and wet,” the demon breathed hoarsely. With that, he started shoving himself in her, Sansa meeting each of his thrusts eagerly.

With his hands, he caressed her waist, her ribs, grabbed both of her butt cheeks hard. Sansa loved being touched, being possessed, and she moaned as his palms ended their journey to engulf her boobs, his fingers toying with her nipples.

“I missed this, thought about fucking you while I was in the Void… Did you think about it too?”

Sansa blushed deeply. “Yes…” she admitted.

“Did you touch yourself?” He lowered a hand and found her clit with his fingers.

Sansa shook her head, letting out a groan at the delicious sensation his touch awoke in her.

“Wanted to wait for my cock, didn’t you? I’m glad you did. I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll see… you’ll thank me afterwards, I can already hear your polite little chirping…”

With that the Hound seized her hip with the hand he had had over her breasts, his other one busy stroking the apex of her folds. Guiding the pace of her movements over him, he began thrusting himself more powerfully in her. Sansa mewed and willingly let him use her as he pleased, yet this was apparently not enough for him, for the scent of metal suddenly became almost insufferably intense. Her head spinning with the overwhelming effect of the demon’s spell, Sansa arched her back and rocked her pelvis frantically against him. Her moans were getting loud and desperate, her climax coming dangerously close…

“Don’t resist, just let it come to you,” the Hound rasped, his fingers moving in fast circles over her nub.

As if by magic, his words had an instantaneous effect on Sansa and she peaked at once, an orgasm just as insanely potent as she remembered. She cried out, shook and twisted over the Hound for what seemed to her like an eternity, savouring every single upsurge of ecstasy she was assailed with until there was not an ounce of strength left in her and she collapsed over his muscular torso.

The Hound only gave her an instant to come round and rolled her onto her back nearly just as soon. He was so immense and heavy over her, Sansa was frightened for an instant. All she could see of him was the dark outline of his horns and opened bat-like wings, his yellowish and grey glowing eyes.

“You feel better already, I can tell. Fornication did you some good. Tell me you want me to fuck you all night now, say it,” he rasped, his voice alike the hiss of a snake. Even as he spoke, he resumed taking her hard.

“Yes, please, fuck me… fuck me all night…” Sansa said, meaning every word of it.

“Sandor… say my name. You didn’t shy away from crying it out last time when I took you on all four like a bitch, _my little bitch_...”

Sansa remembered well enough. Would he take her again like that tonight? Gods, she could feel herself get even wetter just at the thought of it. “Sandor…” she crooned. “Sandor, fuck me.”

Her plea finished him off. Growling, he pounded himself in her with everything he had until his powerful frame shook against her. When he was done and panting and cursing, he leaned most of his weight into the mattress by her side and stayed over her without pulling out.

“Still hard as a rock,” the Hound said after what had appeared to Sansa like a long moment of quietness. Propping himself on his forearm, he withdrew his dick halfway out of Sansa, looking down at his shinny with moisture erect shaft. “What am I to do with this?” he asked, shooting her a sly, somewhat predatory look.

Then he was screwing her again just as energetically. Both of their sexes were slick with their combined fluids and their relentless comings and goings were emitting all sorts of wet noises which might have mortified Sansa had she not been so engrossed in the present moment. In a way, the baseness of it even aroused her and soon, she was coming a second time, the Hound following her shortly after.

They took a break after that and laid peacefully over Sansa’s bed. Given the Hound’s abnormally warm skin, there was no need for blankets and she stayed snuggled against him, her head leaned over his shoulder. At first, she kept her eyes shut and thought of nothing. Yet as he demon’s spell faded away, as she slowly caught her breath and as her heartbeat gradually slowed down to its normal pace, she suddenly grew tense, remembering her parents and the state of terror she had left them in. _Oh, by the Seven,_ Sansa mused, her eyes popping open at once.

“Calm down, little bird. Don’t let it consume you. They’ll learn to live with us, even to accept it eventually.”

“What… what are you talking about?” Sansa whispered, unsettled.

“Your parents. Our bound is something they’ll need to accept.”

“How did you know I was thinking about them?” she asked. In one swift movement, she shifted against him and jerked her head back so that she could meet his gaze.

“We’re linked. I can read you. I can sense what you feel,” he rasped slowly.

“Really?” Sansa demanded uneasily, his animalistic eyes all but hypnotising her as she gazed into them. His pupils were black and oblong, his irises grey and shining like molten sliver.

“Yes. You’re getting stronger. My seed did you some good, but your well is not full yet. You’ll need more.”

Sansa frowned. So her stupid sister was right: he had magic jizz indeed. She grimaced. For some reason, the thought of it discouraged her.

“You’re troubled for other reasons too,” the Hound added, lifting a hand to caress her hair. “There are other people bothering you, disturbing your peace.”

“Can you read my mind?” she asked, praying the Seven he could not.

“Not read it, but I can get a sense of what you feel. The stronger your emotions, the more I’ll sense them. You were quite emotional today. I could feel it even from the Void. What happened?”

“I have… trouble with some people at school,” she told him, her throat tightening at the simple memory of it. “But the Void? You mentioned this on a few occasions. What is it?”

“It’s a place just at the edge of what you mortals think of as ‘reality’. There’s nothing there, no sound, no colour or light. You just wait, but nothing ever happens. It’s almost as if you didn’t exist.”

“What were you doing there? Didn’t you go back to the Seven Hells?”

The demon snorted roughly, his features hardening. “Of course not. Did you see any fire when I arrived?”

“No,” Sansa whispered, sheepish. He was right; she had expected her room to catch aflame like on Friday night, yet no fire had come this time around.

“I told you I was not going down there ever again, didn’t I?” he snarled at her, the very suggestion of it incensing him. “Had enough of all that bloody fire. Besides, who’s to say these cuffs would not get chained again from the instant I’d step foot in the damned place? No sense in risking it. No, I’d rather die of boredom in the Void than ever having to go back.”

Cowered, Sansa remained silent for some time, yet her curiosity eventually got the better of her. “Is it really as horrible as the septons say?” she asked in a quiet murmur.

“Even worse. There’s just fire there - fire, pain and despair. When a witch does an Evocation ceremony, thousands upon thousands of demons fight for a chance to be set free. And to get laid.”

“Did you have to fight to rejoin me?”

“Course I had. From the moment I caught a whiff of that sweet psychic scent of yours, I knew you were mine. None of those buggers held a chance.” Pulling her over him, he nuzzled at her neck and cupped her bottom in his large palms. “Enough of that now. There are things you need to tell me and don’t try to change the subject this time around,” he added. Lying his head back down on the pillow underneath, he pushed back Sansa over him just enough to lock gaze with her. “Who are they, those who bother you? We’ll need to find a way to avenge you…”

“Avenge me? On, no! This sounds awful!”

“Who are they?” the Hound insisted, narrowing his blazing eyes at her.

“Just some stupid boys I go to school with. One of them I used to date,” Sansa admitted, oddly embarrassed.

“To date?” he asked, arching his one good eyebrow.

“It means that he was my boyfriend. We were… what? In love? Well at least, I thought he loved me. I now think he never did. He’s a jerk.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing of importance, I guess. He called me names, mocked me, bullied me…” Sansa’s eyes filled with tears at the memory of it.

The Hound’s face twisted in anger. “It’s not nothing if it makes you cry. I sensed your distress today, can still feel it right fucking now. There’s no reason you should suffer for anyone. Those boys should be on their hands and knees for you. Let’s make it so, what do you say? With all of that new power I gave you, why shouldn’t you cast a spell on them so that they start worshiping you as they ought to?” He barked a rough laugh, his lips curving in a something in between a sneer and a grin. “I can already see the scene it would make: each of them wooing you and you, rejecting the buggers one at a time. In public of course, so that they be humiliated as they should. Would that make you feel better?”

“Not at all! I want them as far as possible, not at my heels!” Sansa told him, appalled by his suggestion.

“Keeping them away with a spell shouldn’t be very complicated, but you need to humiliate them too, otherwise they’ll be getting off too lightly. We should force them to do something so fucking ludicrous, it’ll follow them till the day they die, like walk on all four before your school comrades, tear they clothes off and run naked, eat dog poop…”

“Oh, no! I would _never_ do any of that!” Sansa exclaimed in horror, her hands stiffening over his muscled chest. “Casting spells on others without their consent, this is a crime! It’s been such a taboo for so long among the great witch families that no one knows how to do it anymore.”

“ _I_ know how to do it. I would cast it for you if I was not stuck in that twice blasted Void during the day. But I could teach you. It’s easy.”

Her brow knitted, Sansa shook her head. “Please don’t! It’s against witch law and so, so wrong! This is not something I would ever want to learn!”

The demon snorted in disdain. “Against the law. That’s a fucking load of rubbish if you ask me. What the fuck is that even supposed to mean? Laws have no meaning, no true substance or reason to be. They’ve been created by men and men is one hell of an inane creature. Who’s to decide what’s right or wrong, what’s good or evil? And what the fuck is evil even supposed to mean? This world makes not an ounce of sense and men laws are no bloody different. Bugger it all! You know what I think? Life’s too short to worry about such bullshit. While you’re alive, you might as well make the most of it and think of yourself first and foremost. I say you cast a spell on those buggering arse holes so that they pay as they ought to. It’ll be their own bloody fault anyway. They’ve went looking for it, deserve it.”

Sansa was shaking her head violently now and she would have rolled off of him if not for the Hound’s clawed fingers digging painfully into her waist and keeping her in place. “No! That I won’t do! I… I just can’t! I don’t want to break such an important rule to my people! It’s not something I could ever do.”

“But why?” he asked, clearly frustrated by her objection.

“I just couldn’t live with myself afterwards. The guilt would literally kill me! Please leave it. I beg you…”

His nostrils flaring, the demon gritted his teeth and scowled “They need to pay. No one mocks my little mistress, no one makes her cry.”

With that, he flipped her on her back and entered her at once. Sansa had not noticed he was hard and she gasped as she felt his swollen member make its way in her. They resumed having sex just as wildly as they had before and didn’t halt for more than a few minutes at a time for the remaining of the night. The Hound cast plenty of spells on her, demonstrating just how much he didn’t give a shit about her people’s law. But he was not of her people. He was a demon and demons did as they pleased, apparently. Being dead, it was not as if they had anything to lose. For all of that, he didn’t try to convince her to learn how to bewitch others again and Sansa was grateful for it. In fact, they didn’t so much as exchange a single word that didn’t have to do with their coupling until daybreak. The Hound took her many, many times and gave her four additional orgasms. By the time dawn came, Sansa was so exhausted, she barely had time to register that the Hound had vanished before she fell into deep sleep. Reality became nothing but dreamless darkness just as empty as that Void the Hound had told her about and she would have lingered many more hours in it if not for a cry abruptly awaking her.

“Sansa!” she heard.

Sansa didn’t know for how long she had slept, but it didn’t feel like nearly long enough. She twisted into herself, feeling sunlight on her skin. She was bruised, she realised as she shifted under the thin sheet that partially concealed her nudity, was probably covered with scratched where the Hound had clutched at her while they had sex.

“Sansa! Wake up,” mum’s voice ordered her. She sounded on the verge of tears and angry, so very angry.

Her eyes opening at once, Sansa rolled onto her back. The sun’s glare blinded her, but as she squinted against it, she saw her mother standing in the threshold. She was disheveled, looked as if she had not slept of the night and had an expression of horror on her face. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot with dark circles under them.

“Oh, Sansa! What have you ever done?” mum demanded in a shaking voice, tears bathing her face.

  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, here is chapter 7. Sorry for the super long wait. 
> 
> Special thanks to Athena-Noctua-Bubo for beta reading this chapter. I’m very grateful you were able to help! :D

“This is very… very serious, Sansa,” her dad repeated for at least the tenth time in just a few minutes “I don’t think you realise the gravity of what you did,” he said weakly.

Massaging his temples, Ned winced the way he always did when he had a headache. Sansa had seen him do it hundreds of time as he worked long hours in his office or after a particularly difficult conference call with clients, yet that she would one day be to blame for it was not something she could ever have predicted. She had always been such a good girl and taken great pride in how little trouble she caused when compared with her sister. 

By his side, Mum stared unseeingly out the window, her face red and puffy. The dark green silk dressing gown she wore was crumpled and her long auburn hair uncharacteristically tangled.

All three of them sat around the kitchen table, each equally dishevelled and exhausted. Her parents had barely slept the night before and it showed. From what Arya told Sansa when they briefly crossed path earlier, their parents had not even gone to bed, only dozed off and on in the living room as they waited for sunrise to come. Bran, Rickon and Arya had all grabbed breakfast and scurried off to school as soon as they woke up, anxious to be out of the house. As for Sansa, her parents decided to keep her home for the day seeing as they judged her in no state to be seen publicly. Besides, a good talk was more than mandatory and with the house empty, they wouldn’t have to fear being overheard. They could even yell if it came to that, the neighbours were far enough away not to worry they would call the cops, and they had indeed indulged themselves quite a few times already. So far, this conversation was going nowhere.

“I do realise the seriousness of what I did. I thought long and hard before I decided to go through with it,” Sansa answered, her face wet with tears. Tremors were running down her body, as if she was about to be sick, and perhaps she would be. “I felt like I had no choice! It was that, or live my life being as flat as someone not of the blood. I could not bare it!” she cried out before burying her face in her hands and weeping.

“There are worse things in life than having no Skill and being bound to a demon is certainly one of them,” Ned rebuked her so sternly, that Sansa flinched in her seat.

Then, in a heartbeat, his fury gave way to the deepest of misery. His shoulders dropping, he released a long, shivering sigh and glanced up at the ceiling.

“Sansa, why did you have to do this?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “You let a malefic force into your life, welcomed it in our house! He was the scum of humanity in life and now as a demon, his nature can only have worsened. There is absolutely no way of knowing what he is capable of!”

“He’s… not as bad as you think,” Sansa started, her voice small and pitiful. She rubbed the wetness from her face with shaking fingers. “He is… he is scary looking indeed, I won’t lie about that, and I was  _ a little  _ afraid of him at first…” she admitted, which was probably the biggest understatement. “Yet you can rest assured! I… I can tell he’s very devoted to me. He won’t do me any harm, nor to you, that I’m sure of.”

“How can you be so sure? What do you know about demons? What do any of us know? We’re clueless! Apart from the few patchy elements mentioned in that blasted grimoire, we don’t know a bloody thing!” Ned spat, nodding at the old velum book, an air of disgust on his face.

At the centre of the table, the grimoire lay open to the page with the Evocation Ceremony, evidence of her crime for all to see.

“This is the ceremony you performed, Sansa?” Mum asked quietly. Gazing at it with concern, she carefully pulled it to her.

“Yes,” Sansa admitted uneasily. 

Every detail of the ceremony was written in black and white in the grimoire and not for the first time, she wished she had pretended she didn’t know where it was when her parents confronted her about it. She shouldn’t have handed it back so easily. __

Her eyes shining with unshed tears, Mum read the nearly indecipherable gothic letters, the tip of her index finger lightly touching the page. “Did you cut your palm?” she demanded, a worried frown creasing her brow. 

Before Sansa could speak, her mum seized her left hand and tried to open it. Sansa resisted by reflex at first, but quickly surmised it was pointless and relaxed her fingers.

“You did!” Mum exclaimed. Fat tears rolling down her cheeks, she shook her head in incomprehension. “Such a beautiful hand – scarred! It’s such a pity... Oh, Sansa. To go to such extremes… I just don’t understand what has gotten into you.” Sobs shook her hard then and yet, even at the worse of it, no sound escaped her lips.

Dad pinched the bridge of his nose and yanked the grimoire closer to him. “So… as I understand it, you performed this whole ceremony from start to finish… You did the… ah… the  _ Fornication _ …” he said, his features contracting as the word left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

Biting her lip, Sansa shifted uneasily in her chair. Though she wore her dressing gown, she was still naked underneath, same as when her mother woke her up. The burning sensation between her legs served as a constant reminder of how relentlessly the Hound had taken her last night, same as the multiple bruises on her skin. Sansa knew she looked exactly like what she was: a girl who had been ran over by a ferocious, insatiable beast from dusk to dawn. There was no point in lying about this, especially seeing as no Evocation could work if a witch was not willing to offer herself to the demon she called forth. 

“It’s part of the whole deal. It wouldn’t have worked otherwise,” she whispered, lowering her eyes in shame.

As Catelyn heard her words, she let out a small sound, like a muffled sob. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw her father’s hand close in a fist on the table. “Did… did he hurt you? The demon?”

“I’m fine,” Sansa assured him, still not daring to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t lie. You’re bruised all over. Covered with scratches… I saw it!” Mum pointed out, her voice raw with emotion.

“It doesn’t hurt, I swear it. He didn’t mean to harm me, it’s just that… that with his claws…”

Exhaling loudly, Dad rubbed his hands over his face with a total lack of strength. “He has claws…” he repeated. “Claws and horns and wings. A demon! I still can’t believe it. Had it not been for the stench of that bastard’s psychic scent filling the house, I would have thought Arya lost her blasted mind when she told us about what you did. It’s still hard for me to wrap my head around it...”

“Oh, Sansa… why, oh why did you ever have to do this?” her mum repeated the now overused reproach. “You’re just sixteen, so young and beautiful, with your whole life ahead of you… And here, you’ve just willingly tied your existence to that of a monster. He’s not even alive, Sansa! Not even worthy to be called a man…”

A new surge of tears filled Sansa’s eyes, nearly blinding her. “It was that, or never be a true witch. No matter how horrible the consequences may seem to you, I don’t regret it! Not even one bit!”

“You don’t regret it yet, but you will, my daughter. Oh, you will,” Ned retorted heatedly. He pointed an accusing finger at her, his frown deepening. “How do you think your life will go from now on, with a demon from the Seven Hells always looking over your shoulder? You think you’ll manage to lead a normal existence when your nights will be spent with a fiend, doing… doing  _ things _ … well things I would rather not have to think about where you are concerned?”

Sansa blushed. “I don’t see how it will be so bad, Dad. As I told you, the Hound would never hurt me and no one needs to know about him apart from you two and Arya. And at least, I’ll have Skill and will be able to contribute to the family business. If not for that, I would’ve been good for  _ nothing _ !”

“Don’t say that, Sansa. Skill is not everything. Your brothers won’t ever have any Skill either, same as I. It doesn’t make us worthless.”

While a distant part of Sansa felt awful for having inadvertently insulted her father and brothers, she was too blinded by her emotions to apologise. “But I’m female! I’m supposed to have Skill, it’s not the same at all! Who would infuse appeal into our client’s investments if every one of us was just as flat as me? All of the witch families’ fortunes are  _ thanks _ to their women’s Skill.”

“Your mother and Arya would’ve been enough. Some families have no daughter and it’s not one generation that ruins them. There was absolutely no need for you to do something so drastic.”

“But I really want to contribute! I have always felt like such a failure, as if I had let everyone down.”

“No one ever blamed you for it. It was never your fault!” Mum assured her.

Like most witch families, the Starks’ wealth was in all appearances perfectly legitimate and to some extent, it truly was. The family had operated _ Stark’s Investments, _ a venture capital firm, for many generations with a lot of success. Dad, his father before him, his grandfather, his great grandfather and so on, had all earned master’s degrees in finance in order to properly direct the firm. Today, it was Robb’s turn and with the excellent results he had so far,  _ Stark’s Investments’ _ future looked as bright as ever. 

But of course, the Starks’ success was not solely about calculated risks and a perfect knowledge of the market; the power of the family’s women had lots to do with its everlasting good fortune as well. While witch law forbade casting spells on people, there was nothing illegal about suffusing appeal to a product, or the venture of a company. So that’s what the Stark women had done over the last few generations in order to ensure the investments of the firm’s client’s never lost value. 

The recipe was a winning one without a doubt, for even in periods of crisis  _ Stark’s Investments _ always managed to keep its clients accounts well above water, the current year being especially fruitful. After Ned advised his clients to purchase shares of a new promising vineyard in January, it became so popular that by May, their wine was completely sold out. Not long after that, a small organic farm the firm invested in started distributing their products all over Westeros, and more recently, the graphite mine north of the Wall Ned had believed in so much had signed contracts with several electric car manufacturers. 

“But, Mum, I have power now and lots of it!” Sansa insisted. “I’ll infuse some of it in the business and that will give you a chance to use your Skill for other stuff. What do you say, Mum? You barely ever get to weave spells for yourself.” 

“I don’t mind it, Sansa, no matter what you may think. I’ve long passed the age of casting beauty spells on myself every morning. I can fix my hair and apply makeup on my own just fine. So what if I have a few hairs out of place? I’m not so vain as to use the Craft to keep myself looking like I came straight out of a magazine all day long. One anti-wrinkle and hair colouring spell per month is all a woman needs.” Then, furrowing her brow, Mum contemplated her for a moment. “But you have a lot of power indeed,” she added quietly. “Probably too much in fact. It’s not normal for someone who has only just blossomed - you’re nearly glowing with it. We’ll need to find a way to empty your well at least by half.”

Sansa blushed. She knew her mother did not mean it as a compliment, yet she couldn’t help but be pleased by her remark. She always dreamed of glowing with power; it was deemed very attractive, something that would bring a woman of the blood many suitors. 

“If I use my power to help you with the business, my well won’t be so full. It’d be perfect, we’d be killing two birds with one stone.”

Pulling his face into a dark scowl, her dad shook his head. “I forbid you from infusing any of your power in our clients’ investments. With the origins of your Skill, this makes me anxious. There’s no knowing if the spells you’d cast would last, or if the situation would not turn against us, somehow.”

“But why? There’s no reason my power should be wasted! And Mum said herself that my well was too full,” Sansa complained, knitting her brow. “And why would the Hound turn on me? We are bound and so hurting me would hurt him as well, right? I… I know I can trust him.” 

Dad’s laugh was devoid of any humour. “You trust a devil, Sansa? Can’t you see how little sense that makes? Even someone as ignorant as me in demonology is aware of how malicious they’re supposed to be. They aren’t like us mortals. You cannot predict his actions and read him the way you would a living person.” 

Sansa had read as much in the grimoire, and the truth was she worried about this too, but she was not about to admit to it aloud. She needed to convince her parents that the Hound was her ally and that they were worrying for nothing and thus, she best keep her doubts to herself.

“The Hound? Is that the fiend’s name?” her mother asked. “You referred to him like that before.”

“Yes, that’s what he told me he was called.” 

From her mother’s air of disgust, Sansa surmised she wasn’t impressed in the least.

“Well then, the Hound is neither welcome here, or in your life,” Dad stated firmly. Exhaling a deep sigh, he ran a hand though his mostly gray hair. “We’ll need to find a way to undo that Evocation ceremony. There must be a way out of this… or else… or else…”

Sansa gasped at hearing his words. “To undo the ceremony? Oh, no! I don’t want you to find a way! I won’t let you do it!” she cried out, fresh tears pearling in her eyes. 

“Sansa,” Mum pleaded, laying a gentle hand on her thigh. “I don’t think you realise the implications of your actions. That new power may be fun for now, but this bond will be for your whole life! You will always be different because of it, will probably never get to marry and have a family of your own.  How do you think a devil would deal with seeing you with a man?”

Sansa thought about it for an instant. From the Hound’s attitude towards her, she had an inkling he would not tolerate it. Besides, even if she was wrong about it and he was not possessive in the least, what kind of guy would agree to share his wife with a demon? Her chances of ever knowing love were indeed slim to none. 

_ You’ll want no man in your bed after you’ve known a demon, _ the Hound’s words came back to her. He said them just before their first encounter in that very gravelly voice of his and then, taken her countless times all through the night.

While Sansa was a virgin before him, she trusted he was right about this. With the spells he cast on her and how horny and responsive it made her, she couldn’t envision how doing it with a mortal guy could even compare. Maybe she would never long for a regular partner after all - a devil would be enough. 

But these were not details Sansa wished to share with her parents. Instead, she told them of the one very real fear she had for the longest time. “No man from a witch family would have ever wanted me anyway. Skilless as I was, I would have brought him nothing.” 

“Don’t say that, Sansa. That’s not true,” Mum insisted, though the sadness in her eyes said otherwise.

“It is, Mum, and you know it! Every spinster in our congregation is unskilled or of lesser Skill. It’s always been like that, and will never change. Even Joffrey dumped me because of it!” 

Her features contorting painfully, Sansa let out a whimper hiding her face in her hands, abashed to be seen weeping for such an undeserving jerk. It made no sense: she wouldn’t get back with him even if he begged her on his hands and knees, yet there was no denying the rejection still stung. 

“Oh, sweetie, I didn’t realise how heartbroken you were. I knew you were sad, but I would never have thought that it would push you to such extremes. Had I known… I would’ve been more present, perhaps I could have prevented this…” Mum said with regret. 

“And I shouldn’t have left the door of our occult library unlocked. That was a huge mistake on my part, yet I would never have thought that any child of mine would be so foolish as to attempt something so dangerous. From now on, it will be locked at all time and shielded with a spell,” her dad said, glancing at Mum.

She nodded. “I’m too tired to do it just now, but I’ll cast a spell after I’ve slept a bit.”

“Yes, I think we all need to sleep for a few hours now. I can hardly think straight,” he agreed. 

Sansa bit her lip, not daring to hope this ordeal of a conversation might really be coming to an end at last - or at least, a hiatus, yet both of her parents apparently had had enough as well.

Sighing deeply, Dad gestured towards the hallway. “Go to bed, Sansa. We’ll resume this discussion later tonight.”

Fearing that he might change his mind if she spoke so much as a word, Sansa nodded and strode out of the kitchen at once. The instant her bedroom door shut behind her, she jumped in her bed and pulled her sheet and comforter over her. She didn’t even have time to cry before sleep found her.

*****

It was the sound of her siblings returning home from school that awoke Sansa in the late afternoon. While she had slept for many hours, she barely felt any better than before she went to bed. Dizziness overcame Sansa as she sat at the edge of her mattress and she stayed there, her face lowered in her open palms, for a few long minutes as she struggled to collect herself.

_Oh, by the Seven._ _What am I going to do?_ she mused as the events of the previous night and morning came back to her. The predicament she had entangled herself into was so surreal, like something out of her worse nightmare. Sansa couldn’t bear the thought of what she was putting her parents through. They were so worried for her, totally horror-struck, and with reason. And yet for all of that, there was no way that she agreed to any sort of attempt to undo the Evocation ceremony she had performed. Sansa was not going to turn her back on the Hound and the power her alliance with him granted her. It would make no sense at this point, not when she would be facing her parents’ disapproval and disappointment no matter what. The damage was already done and if she was to be looked down on for the rest of her life, she’d rather it be with Skill.

After taking a long hot shower, Sansa put on her pyjamas and returned to her room. In a will to keep her mind from her present situation and lessen the anxiety pondering it triggered in her, she attempted to do some homework at her desk. Not surprisingly, her efforts proved worthless. She was too distracted, and kept thinking of her parents and the shock she saw in their eyes as she told them everything she dared to. Sansa had always been such a good girl and done whatever she could to please them. It pained her to turn rebellious overnight; it was out of character for her, certainly not something she would have done under regular circumstances. But life was not so simple, she had learned recently, and one had to make difficult choices in order to achieve the goals they set for themselves.

All too soon, dinner was ready and Sansa reluctantly joined her family in the dinning room, her legs unsteady as she walked down the grand staircase. She was greeted by a few furtive glances and a grunt from her father and sat down at her place without uttering a word. 

Everyone ate in awkward silence, only exchanging short, practical sentences. Poor Bran and Rickon were exceedingly confused and kept peeking from Sansa to Mum and Dad, trying to understand the situation. Despite no one telling them about the Summoning she had performed, they knew for a fact that Sansa had messed up pretty badly from the way their parents screamed last night and the somber atmosphere that hung over  the house ever since. As for Arya, she barely raised her eyes from the plate of spaghetti she was eating at full speed. In less than five minutes, she had inhaled everything on her plate and stood up to leave even before she swallowed her last mouthful. 

“Thanks, Mum! That was very good,” she said with much more enthusiasm than was necessary. “Well, I think I better head upstairs to study a bit now.”

Sansa might have found her sister’s uncharacteristic eagerness to study funny if not for her present dire circumstances. She clearly didn’t wish to linger and really, who could blame her for it? 

“Arya,” their dad told her before she had a chance to take off. “Your mother and I need to talk to both you and your sister. I’ll call for you when we’re ready.”

Her face growing long, Arya gulped and nodded just once. “Alright then,” she said before walking away. 

When everyone was finished eating, the dishes had been done, and the lunches packed, Sansa, Arya and their parents all met in Dad’s office even as the boys headed to the basement media room to play video games. They sat around the small round table in the centre of the room, the door shut behind them. On her father’s reading desk, Sansa noticed a pile of books, among which was the grimoire she used.  _ Has he found something?  _ she wondered nervously. There were without a doubt few thesis on demonology which could be found in the the family’s occult library, or any other book that might increase his knowledge on the subject. Sansa could only hope his research had so far been vain.

“Your mother and I have had a chance to rest and talk,” Dad started, though he in truth looked just as worn-out as this morning. Sighing deeply, he shook his head in discouragement. “This Evocation… it was such a huge mistake, Sansa. It’s a curse that’s fallen on our family, but we’ll make it through and stand by you no matter what. You are our daughter and we love you very much.”

Mum nodded in agreement. “It’s true, Sansa. We’ll never let you down, I hope you realise that. Everything we’re doing here, it’s for your own sake, dear, and nothing else,” she insisted with a genuine, yet very tired smile. Though she had showered and brushed her hair, she still didn’t seem like her usual self. 

“I do know all of that, of course,” Sansa murmured. “But you don’t need to worry about me. Everything is fine and I can assure you that I have the situation well under --”

Dad silenced her with a wave of his hand. “Hush now,” he said before continuing like she had said nothing. “We came up with a strategy of sorts. First, I’d like to insist on the fact that this Evocation Sansa did must never be mentioned to anyone,” he insisted, gazing at both Sansa and Arya in turn. “Not to any of your friends, not to Rickon or Bran, and I think I’d like to keep it from Robb and Jon, at least for now…”

“Of course I won’t tell anyone. I know how bad the kind of magic I did is seen,” Sansa replied with a blush.

By her side, Arya made a gesture like she was closing a zipper over her mouth. “I’m not telling anyone, no worries. Can I go now? I don’t see why I need to be here. It’s just that I have an exam tomorrow, you know, and so I really need to study--” 

“You’re staying. You’ll have time enough for that after we’re done,” their dad interrupted her so harshly that she literally jumped in place.

“And now, let’s hope that you have good grades for once. Funny how you only ever need to study when your parents want something of you and never have to when you ask us if you can go hang out with your friends,” Mum commented dryly. 

Grunting in agreement, Dad shot Arya a reproachful look. “Very strange indeed,” he said even as Arya gazed down at her hands sheepishly. Then, clearing his throat, he squeezed his eyes shut, as if he were in pain. “For all of our need for secrecy, I’m afraid that we’ll have no choice but to ask for some help from Lewin and Old Nan,” he went on in a slow, weary voice. “No one knows the Craft as much as they do and your mother and I both feel confident that we can trust them with this. We really need to find a way to destroy this bond, somehow, and if anyone can help us, it’s them. For now, the only lead I found is to ask a Septon to attempt an exorcism on you and I’m very reluctant to go in that direction. I’m not sure we can trust people of the church not to spread rumours the way we can Nan and Lewin. They usually make such a spectacle out of everything…”

Sansa gasped at hearing her father’s words. “No! Not a Septon!” she exclaimed in dismay. How could her parents even consider such a thing?

The great witch families had an aversion to the Faith in general for the longest time. They had a history: some centuries ago, women ancestors of every family had been burnt at the stake by groups of fanatical Septons and Sparrows. The women who survived those dark times had learned to be discreet about their power in order to survive and taught their descendants to do the same. 

“Not a good idea indeed,” Mum agreed, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “Still, if it turns out to be our only choice… perhaps… perhaps we could…” 

“Oh, no! Please don’t do this! I beg you not to! It wouldn’t work anyway. The Hound did not invade me unwillingly; I called him forth!” Sansa cried out, tears welling in her eyes. “And don’t try anything else either, Dad. You’re wasting your time. I won’t cooperate, I told you already! The Hound… the Hound and I are linked now. I cannot betray him! What would that make me? _ And I need him _ !”

“Your father only has your best interest at heart, Sansa. You apparently don’t know what’s good for you. As your parents, it’s our duty to watch over you and that’s exactly what we’re doing just now,” Mum said.

His frown deepening, Dad glanced at Mum gratefully. “Thank you, Catelyn. But, Sansa the exorcism…” he trailed off, grimacing. “Well if it makes you feel better, it will most likely never take place. Drawing the Faith’s attention is never a good idea and it’s not like I’m convinced anything they’d do would actually work anyway. But there must be another way, there has to be, and we’ll find it. You’ll thank us in time, when you’re older and wiser, you’ll see.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Sansa stated, gazing down dejectedly. Her throat was getting uncomfortably tight, like it always did whenever she was about to cry. This was so unfair! Just as she was getting used to her new Skill and to the demon she had to thank for it, here her parents wanted to throw it all away. It was her life, not theirs! She wanted to scream in outrage, but in her despair, she found herself unable to utter a single word.

As for poor Arya, she looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here and was glancing around herself as if she was searching for a way out, yet she knew better than to suggest that she leave this time around.

“Still, until we find a way to sever your link with that… that  _ Hound,  _ as you call him, this new Skill of yours needs to be toned down,” Dad said, massaging his temples. “As it is, it’s far too noticeable and with the Tyrells going to the same school as you… and with Petyr Baelish being your principal… you going to school in your present state is not advisable. Rumours would spread…”

Sansa shivered at the mere mention of her principal’s name. She fleetingly wondered what he’d think of her being bound to a demon from the Seven Hells and losing her virginity to him, and the notion made her all the more uncomfortable.

“Shielding yourself is the best solution,” Mum continued. “Same as you did before last night. It would solve two problems at once. Empty your well and keep that fiend at bay.”

Panic rose in Sansa, like steam in a kettle ready to burst. She shook her head violently, so distraught she was suddenly dizzy and short-breathed. “To shield myself? No, that I cannot do! Oh, no, no, no!  _ I can’t _ ”

“So, you  _ are _ afraid of him, my child. Did he threatened to hurt you if you blocked him again?” Dad asked in a mix of concern and anger.

“He did not!” Sansa nearly sobbed. “Of course not - why would he even do that? We are bound!” she reminded him. “It’s just that I… I promised him… The Hound made me promise I would never shield myself against him again…” 

“Course he has,” Dad growled. “It’s not in his interest that you block him. But you will do as I say.”

“But, Dad, I can’t! Didn’t you hear? I gave him my word! What would that make me if I did not to keep it? I would be betraying him!” 

Mum snorted, clearly unconvinced by her argument. “A promise made to a devil doesn’t mean a thing, darling. There’s no harm in not holding it.”

Sansa’s face was so wet with tears, she tasted the salt of them as she breathed through her mouth. She sniffed loudly, a spasm going through her. “I don’t want to do it! Holding that shield was not nice for me at all, you know. I was so weak… And the Hound, he suffered while I shielded myself. I cannot harm him!”

“Are we supposed to pity him now?” Dad asked, shaking his head in astonishment. “Don’t you see he’s trying to manipulate you, to use your gentle nature to his advantage?”

Her anguish rising, Sansa began to shiver uncontrollably. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she shrieked. “I… I trust him.”

“Which clearly shows your lack of discernment in the matter,” Mum remarked. “Who’s to say what got him to the Seven Hells to begin with? He could have been a liar, a thief, a killer…”

Even as her mother spoke, Sansa felt something strange coming from deep within her. It was like a touch, the Hound’s touch. She gazed out the window, taken aback, to realise it had become fully dark outside.

_ Little bird, are you all right? _ a voice no one but her could hear murmured in the back of her mind. 

The colour draining from her face, Sansa grew as stiff as a bow.  _ Stay where you are! _ she tried telling him.

But it was too late, apparently, for the Hound’s psychic scent became noticeable a split second later. Though it was subtle, everyone sensed it. Arya’s eyes widened with fear, Mum tensed, and Dad flinched…

 “Your devil, Sansa. I told you to block him!  And now, here you are calling him instead?” Dad said in a voice filled with outrage.

“Gods… such a powerful scent…” Mum whispered to herself, her face contorted in an expression of horror. She raised a hand to her nose, same as if she had just smelled something foul.

“I’m not calling him!” Sansa shouted in a frenzy. “It’s just that he can sense my emotions and now, it’s dark outside, so he’s not trapped in the Void anymore! He doesn’t like it when I’m upset; he told me he could sense my distress the other day when Joffrey… when Joffrey was being Joffrey and he was so very mad at him for putting me in that state. I really need to go, now!” With that, she stood from her chair, ready to stride away.

“Block him, Sansa!” Mum ordered her, catching her by the sleeve. “Don’t let this creature into our house. You cannot let him soil it with his stench!”

And indeed, the Hound’s psychic scent was getting stronger with every passing second, which in turn made her heart hammer frantically in her chest.

“I can’t!” Sansa cried. “I made him a promise and I… I don’t even know if I could stop him from leaving the Void at this point. It’s too late! Let me go!” Wrenching herself free from her mother’s grasp, she ran as fast as she could towards the staircase. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her dad roared. 

Behind her, the sound of both her parents’ steps echoed as they came after her. Sansa ran up the stairs, not daring to look back, and shut her bedroom door behind her as soon as she entered. After pushing her desk in front of the door, she leaned against it, using her entire body weight to keep it closed.

“Open immediately, Sansa!” Dad shouted, pushing at the door.

“No I won’t! It’s better this way, you don’t want to see… to see  _ him _ … I … I don’t think it’s a good idea!”

Sansa wouldn’t be able to keep the door shut for very long, not with both of her parents uniting their strength to force it open. Shutting her eyes, she hurriedly weaved a little spell to lock it with an invisible bolt, yet her mother saw it coming and prevented the bolt from closing with a spell of her own. Knitting her brow, Sansa pressed her upper arms and palms onto the door, using the strength of her legs to drive into it as hard as she could even as she infused more of her might into her spell, yet it was never enough, for Mum did just the same.

Mother and daughter fought against one another for a few interminable seconds and though Sansa certainly had more raw power available in her well, she was still new to her Skill whereas her mother had far more experience. Slowly but surely, she was losing the battle and she let out a groan of despair as she felt the door opening more and more despite her best efforts.

But then just as she was losing all hope, the Hound’s psychic scent grew insufferably potent and a huge dark grey hand with long, sharp black claws landed on the door by her side, closing it completely. In the blink of an eye, the room became shockingly silent, like it was surrounded by nothing but emptiness.

Swirling around, Sansa gazed up, her eyes widening as they fell on the Hound’s massive frame and terrifying features. While she was grateful for his timely arrival, fear seized her nonetheless as she met his strange, blazing eyes. By instinct, she leaned her back flat against the door in a will to keep as much distance as she could from him. No human could stand by such a fearsome and alien creature and not shiver as if their life was in danger, the fact they were bound didn’t make it any different for Sansa. It was a mercy her parents were spared the sight of him and she prayed they never came face to face with him.

“Why were you crying, little bird? Who put you in that state?” the Hound asked her in his very distinctive rasp. Narrowing his eyes, he tilted his head to the side, his long, pointy horns cutting the air above his head as he did.

“It’s my… my parents. They wanted me to shield myself against you again,” Sansa whispered. Unable to control herself anymore, she resumed weeping. “And they told me they would find a way to break our bond! They want to undo my Evocation… I… I don’t want them to do it.”

The Hound’s nostrils flared in anger. “They won’t succeed,” he rasped, tracing the line of her jaw with a long, sharp claw. The hint of a smile curved his lips then, though his eyes remained wrathful. “Nothing can sever our link, Sansa. That bond we have is forever. I told you already, didn’t I?” he asked, drying the tears that bathed her cheeks with his knuckles.

Sansa nodded, her sobs subsiding. “Yes,” she breathed gazing into his hypnotic animalistic eyes. She lost herself in them and for a moment, it was as if nothing else existed in the whole wide world.

“Come over here,” the Hound bade her, pulling her into an embrace. 

Offering no resistance, Sansa buried her face into his muscled chest, her hands rising to his torso. His skin was so hot, it was nearly burning to the touch, but she didn’t mind, not truly. It was oddly comforting, the way a very hot shower could be soothing to the nerves after a long, strenuous day.

“Don’t let them, or anyone, disturb your peace,” the Hound muttered in her ear, his tone very calm and yet at the same time, somewhat threatening. “You and I, are all that matters in this bloody world from now on, you hear me? There’s not a mortal walking this fucking planet that can destroy what we have.”

“No one,” Sansa repeated into his chest. “No one will destroy our bond.”

“Yes, that’s right.” His hand sliding to her chin, he titled her face upward and bent down to kiss her on her mouth, unexpectedly softly. 

Sansa met his tongue with hers and moaned at how good it felt. As their lips moved in unison, the scent of metal thickened around them and her head was spinning. Her limbs quickly losing their strength, she leaned her weight into him, feeling his erection against her upper belly and stirring at the fluttering the hardness woke deep in the pit of stomach.

“And that bond… that bond we have,” the Hound rasped against her lips. “The more we fuck, the stronger it will become,” he said lowly, caressing her hair. “I say we get to it right away, what do you think?”

Sansa nodded, gazing up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Yes,” she agreed softly, the sweet pressure trailing down her loins increasing with every passing second.

A terrifying grin splitting his face, the Hound gathered her in his arms like she weighed nothing. He didn’t utter a single word and walked towards the bed in silence.

 


End file.
